


In a Yellow Wood

by SEABlRD



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Proposal rejection, Slow Burn, Trans Character, and the regent doesn't exist have a good day!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 14:09:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15098237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEABlRD/pseuds/SEABlRD
Summary: [7:48] god Nik im so nervous im shakingdude calm down it’ll be fine [7:50][7:51] but what if it isnt what if he says no???you guys are nuts for each other like [7:53]literally in what world would he say no [7:53][8:26] this one apparentlyCalling Damen…





	1. Nikandros, Auguste - Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> im not sure how to feel about this tbh  
> unbeta'd, if you see mistakes let me know!  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _All I believe, Is it a dream?_   
>  _That comes crashing down on me?_   
>  _All that I own_   
>  _Is it just smoke and mirrors?_

> **[7:48] god Nik im so nervous im shaking**
> 
> dude calm down it’ll be fine [7:50]
> 
> **[7:51] but what if it isnt what if he says no???**
> 
> you guys are nuts for each other like [7:53]
> 
> literally in what world would he say no [7:53]
> 
>  
> 
> **[8:26] this one apparently**
> 
> _Calling Damen…_

“What the fuck does that mean Damen?!” Nikandros shouts into the receiver, the phone nestled between his ear and his shoulder as he’s already peeling out of the driveway and speeding toward the restaurant where his best friend was _supposed_ to be having the best night of his entire life.

 _“He said no,”_ Damen’s voice is shaky and there’s background noise of traffic coming from the speaker, he must be outside. _“Laurent said no.”_

He slaps his hand against the steering wheel, causing it to make an obnoxious honk. The driver in front of him turns around and glares at him through their rear window and he waves apologetically at them, then returns to the pressing matter at hand. “That makes no goddamn sense! Go back in there and ask him again, maybe he didn’t hear you right the first time!”

_“He already left, and I- I can’t go back inside, everybody’s going to look at me…”_

Nik curses under his breath, the string lights of the restaurant’s terrace already coming into view. On the sidewalk stands Damen, hunched into himself and shivering. The nice fancy blazer that he bought specially for today is crumpled and spotted with dampness at the sleeves. Nik hangs up, watching as Damen does the same, and parks on the curb. The door takes a second too long to unlock and he’s is stumbling out of the driver’s side, using the hood of the car to balance himself as he moves around and brings Damen into a crushing hug.

“You were right,” Damen sniffles into his shoulder, arms hanging limp at his sides. “I should just give up on bitchy blondes, or whatever.”

“Okay, come on buddy,” Nik rubs his back, frowning. “Let’s just get you home, alright? Let’s get you home.”

Nik drags Damen to the passenger’s side, all but shoving him into the car, and ignoring the pitying looks from the restaurant patrons. The drive back to Damen’s apartment is quiet, unbroken silence except for the small hiccups Damen chokes back.

Neither of them turn the lights on as they shuffle into the hallway, kicking their shoes off haphazardly. Damen uses the wall to guide himself into the living room, through the small kitchen, and toward the bedroom. Nik follows behind him worriedly, a hand on his shoulder steadying him as he goes. The door to the bedroom creaks slowly, Damen pushing it open as though it weighs a million pounds. The sheets are unmade and pillows are everywhere, evidence of Damen and Laurent sharing the space, more preoccupied with each other than the neatness.

He sinks to the floor slowly as his legs give out, the tiny box he’d been clutching falls to the floor. The hardwood is cold where it brushes against his skin, so he draws his limbs into himself He takes in deep, shuddering breaths and buries his face in his knees.

Nik stands behind him in the doorway for a long moment before picking up the box and moving back to the kitchen. He’d never been particularly interested in tea, but he knows Damen has a good stash of loose leaves and busies himself by boiling the water.

He opens the box and sighs at the small golden ring nestled in the silk, a simple band engraved with intricate laurels. A crown for his queen, Theomedes had called it when he’d given it to Damen’s mother.

A sound like a wounded animal shakes the apartment and Nik nearly knocks over the boiling kettle. Fuck the tea, he decides. His friend needs him.

\-----

Auguste wakes up with a gasp, a bolt of lightning drives up from his legs and into his spine. He turns to his nightstand with a wince and picks up the shrill-ringing phone, noting that it says 1:00 am.

“Hello?” He mutters into the receiver, squinting against the bright light of the screen.

 _“Auguste?”_ Laurent’s voice filters through, sounding far away. Immediately, Auguste sits up, ignoring his body’s protests.

“Lau? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asks, putting the phone on speaker as he uses his arms to shift himself into the wheelchair beside the bed. “Did something happen? How did your dinner go?”

 _“... I made a terrible mistake,”_ is the reply he gets. Auguste lands in the wheelchair a little harder than he means to, and the wheels yelp at the impact.

“Laurent, what do you mean?” Auguste grabs the phone and puts it in his lap, pushing the chair through the doorway. “What happened? Do you need me to come get you?”

He wheels himself into the kitchen by the time Laurent works up the courage to speak, and he almost misses it as his coffee machine grinds to life. He picks up the phone and holds it closer to is face as it begins to pour.

 _“The dinner was nice, it was a restaurant Damen knows I like,”_ Laurent says, halting and unsure. _“He… Auguste, he proposed.”_

Auguste drops the phone and it lands in his lap with a muffled sound. He must be the picture of grace, open-mouthed and staring at the watery cup of coffee on the counter in his rumpled pyjamas. “Did he?” he asks, intelligently.

Already he can picture himself in the living room with Laurent and arguing over themes and colour scheme coordination, like picking flowers that match the plates, and holding his baby brother’s hand as he rolls beside him down the aisle.

_“I said no.”_

It takes a few seconds for the statement to register in Auguste’s mind. He hears it, and understands what it means, but it doesn’t make sense. “Oh, Laurent, why would you do that?”

_“I don’t know.”_

“Are you at home right now?” Auguste asks, picking up his coffee. He definitely needs it, now. “Do you need me to come get you?”

 _“I’m at the park. I’ve been here a while,”_ Laurent whispers into the phone, and Auguste knows he’s folded into himself on a park bench by the pond. It’s his favourite spot to sit and watch the ducks, while Damen goes to the nearby ice cream cart to get him a strawberry sundae to share in the summer heat.

Auguste sighs, finishing his coffee and wheeling himself to the front door and putting on a jacket, so that he might have a semblance of proper clothes. “I’m coming to get you, okay? Tomorrow morning we’ll call Damen and you can talk it out.” He offers.

 _“I don’t think there will be any talking,”_ Laurent says, with the sound of hair rustling against the receiver as he shakes his head. _“You didn’t see his face, Auguste, when I… I hurt him so much.”_

And in a startling lapse of control that he hadn’t shown since he was ten, Laurent cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever just panic and say the wrong shit? yeah.
> 
> idk what i wanted to do w/ this but it doesnt end here i promise lol


	2. Auguste - Unsteady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _But if you love me, don't let go..._

The dial tone rings annoyingly in Auguste’s ear as he calls Damen’s phone for the seventh time. He throws a glance at the closed door of the guest room, where Laurent threw himself onto the bed facedown and remained there all night. After an eighth failed call, he tries a different approach, and dials Nikandros’ number instead. He takes a sip from his (third!) cup of coffee, waiting patiently as the ringing continues.

Nikandros picks up at the last second, sounding as high-strung as Auguste feels. “What?”

“Hi Nik, it’s Auguste, can I speak with Damen?” is what he manages to get out before the unmistakable sound of someone hanging up on him blares through the speaker. He stares at the empty screen for a while until a message notification comes up.    

> **_[5:31] his phone is off. don't call again._ **

Auguste frowns at his phone and types a message of his own, punching the keys with a little more force than strictly necessary, but to be fair this is for the sake of his baby brother.   

> _I just need to speak with him please [5:22]_
> 
> _There’s been a misunderstanding [5:22]_
> 
> **_[5:33] absolutely not_ **
> 
> **_[5:34] (image attachment)_ **

He opens the image with more than a little trepidation and closes it almost immediately. It’s a phone photo of Damen sitting on the floor in the dark, but the look of him is unlike anything Auguste has ever seen. He can almost feel the sadness rolling off the image in waves.   

> _I admit thats worse than i thought it was [5:27]_
> 
> _Please just let me talk to him i swear it will fix everything [5:28]_
> 
> **_[5:38] he doesnt need this rn_ **
> 
> **_[5:39] just leave him alone_ **

Auguste reaches the end of his rope, putting his phone on silent and tucking it under his thigh so it won’t move as he rolls himself to the guest room and knocks three times. He pauses briefly before deciding to go in anyway. Laurent is still on the bed, lying on his side with the screen of his phone illuminating his face. As Auguste comes closer, he can see that it’s open on an unfinished text.

“Are you going to send that?” he asks, stopping by the bed. He puts a hand on the mattress, letting Laurent take it on his own. His palm is cold.

“I want to,” Laurent mutters, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I should. He won’t want to talk to me.”

Auguste rubs the back of Laurent’s hand with his thumb. “Why wouldn’t he want to talk to you? He loves you.”

“He probably hates me, now.” Laurent counters, eyes finally leaving the screen to look at Auguste. “I just left him there alone, in a crowded restaurant, after I said no. I didn’t even give him a reason, I just ran.”

“Why did you run, Laurent?” Auguste asks, leaning over and using his free hand to pull him into a hug. “Didn’t you two talk about this before? You were never this hesitant when you brought it up with me.”

Laurent tilts his head back and forth, pressing his face into the blanket. “We talked, but not _much_. Not seriously. At least,” his brows furrow. “At least, I didn’t think it was serious.”

“Damen is always serious about you.” Auguste says, amused.

Laurent looks at him for a long time. “We’re so young, though. Papa didn’t marry until he was older.”

“That’s Papa’s problem,” Auguste waves his hand dismissively, and it gets tangled in Laurent’s hair. He pulls his fingers through the strands, combing it out, and Laurent leans into the touch. “You can do what you want with your life, Lau. Papa isn’t the standard for everything. Do you want to text him?”

It’s barely a question. Laurent’s eyes are conflicted, darting glances at his abandoned phone, but Auguste can see his resolve breaking already.

He feels his phone buzz under his leg, ignoring it in favor of pushing Laurent out of the bed. “Come on,” Auguste huffs, muffling Laurent’s protests with a stray pillow. “Go take a shower, get cleaned, and think about it a bit. You’ll feel better when you feel fresh, and then you can talk to him about it.”

The look he gets is downright baleful, and Laurent locks his own phone so Auguste can’t send the half-written message while he’s gone. He gathers his comfy house clothes, sweatpants and, hesitantly, one of Damen’s old shirts, and shuffles off to the bathroom.

Auguste scrambles for the phone under his leg, and beams at the message he just recieved.     

> **_[5:47] you said you can fix this?_ **
> 
> _Yes!! I promise it was a big misunderstanding [5:47]_
> 
> _Let me convince laurent to talk to him [5:47]_
> 
> _It will be FINE they love each other [5:58]_
> 
> **_[5:59] you better be right_ **

Tucking his phone back under his leg, Auguste vibrates in anticipation as he waits for Laurent to come out of the shower. When the water cuts, he almost bounces himself out of his wheelchair.

Laurent emerges, his sweatpants untied and fist curled into the oversized shirt. He fixes his gaze on the phone lying on his pillow and marches to it decidedly.

“Are you going to text him?” Auguste asks, wheeling himself a little closer and gasping as he watches Laurent delete every word he wrote.

“No.” Laurent replies, curt. He erases the text, and deletes the conversation entirely. Auguste’s hand flashes out and he grabs the phone, stopping Laurent from continuing.

“Why not? You wanted to, just before!”

Laurent pulls his hand out of Auguste’s, holding the phone out of reach. “I don’t want to text him anymore! I can do what I want, Auguste!”

“You have to explain yourself!” Auguste pleads, holding onto Laurent’s other arm.

“Oh, I _have_ to, now?”

“He deserves an explanation, at least.”

Laurent scoffs, wrenching himself out of Auguste’s grip. He stalks out of the guest room with Auguste on his heels.

“What would you have me say, then?” he scowls at the phone, open on a new text box. “That I was a coward? I said ‘no’ to toy with his heart? I don’t love him? I wanted to see him make a fool of himself in front of a full restaurant? That I was scared and decided hurting him was better than getting hurt, myself?”

“You’re not that cruel, and surely you know he could never hurt you,” Auguste tries again, coming to a stop beside his brother. Laurent’s shoulders are shaking, but he doesn’t comment on it. Below him, his phone begins to buzz again. “Tell him the truth, he’ll always forgive you no matter what.”

Laurent deflates like a popped balloon. “That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? Maybe I don’t want to be forgiven.”

“Oh, Lau,” Auguste sighs, rolling himself closer and nudging him with his shoulder. “You deserve it, you deserve to be happy with him. Don’t you want that?”

In Laurent’s hand, the phone rings. Damen’s name, followed by blue heart emoji, pops up on the screen, and Laurent watches it ring.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Auguste urges, reaching for the phone himself, when-

Laurent hits _ignore_ , opening the contacts book and brings up Damen’s page. It’s the first one, right under Auguste’s. Before Auguste can react, he blocks the number and tosses the phone into the sink, pulling the faucet open.

Auguste winces and shields his face as water splashes out of the sink in a fine spray and Laurent takes the opportunity to escape, brushing past him and retreating to the guest room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Auguste leans up and shuts off the water, scowling into the sink at the ruined phone. The one under his leg buzzes again and he pulls it out.   

> **_[6:04] how is it_ **
> 
> **_[6:04] is laurent going to call?_ **
> 
> **_[6:10] hello?_ **
> 
> **_[6:10] auguste i swear to god_ **
> 
> **_[6:12] damen is calling him instead_ **
> 
> **_[6:13] HE HUNG UP_ **
> 
> **_[6:14] HE BLOCKED HIS NUMBER???_ **
> 
> **_[6:14] YOU SAID YOU WOULD FIX THIS_ **

He frowns at the string of messages, tapping his own text box and begins to type. His phone buzzes again and he looks at the new message.    

> **_[6:15] fuck you._ **
> 
> _I’m sorry i tried to stop him [6:15]_
> 
> _(Message Not Sent. Tap to try again.)_

Auguste makes a pained noise and looks out the window. The sun peeks over the rooftops, making the windows glint in the morning light. It’s so early, and yet Auguste is already exhausted. Resigned, he pulls himself to the counter and makes another cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c
> 
> thank you so much for the kudos and comments! i wasnt really expecting anyone to be interested in this haha


	3. Damen - Let Him Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Only know you love him when you let him go_   
>  _... and you let him go._

Damen pushes the grocery cart down the aisles aimlessly, staring at the scribbled list in his hand. He’d been living at Nikandros’ apartment for the past… well, since. The price for staying was to buy his own groceries, which didn’t seem like a big compromise at the time, except that it’s taken him over a week to even work up the energy to leave the apartment. Nik all but threw him out the door this morning, and here he is; with a partially illegible list of food he won’t eat and thirty five dollars, and seventy five cents, in his pocket.

He looks down at the paper scrap in his hand and whines. Does that say ‘banana’ or ‘bathmat’? A question for his earlier, panicked self, perhaps. He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Nik, certain his best friend won’t leave him in the dark about it.

He picks up on the third right. _“Hello?”_

“Nik, do we need a bathmat?” Damen asks, stopping in the middle of the aisle, in case he needs to turn the cart around.

_“... Why would we need a bathmat? My place doesn’t even have a bath.”_

Bananas it is, then. “It was a possibility,” he defends weakly, shrugging before he remembers Nik can’t see him. “Maybe you needed it for a craft, or something.”

On the other end, Nik draws in an audible sigh. _“Damen, since when do I do crafts?”_

He puts the phone between his shoulder and his ear and continues pushing the cart, grabbing a bunch of almost-ripe bananas. By the time he gets around to eating them, they’ll be nice and yellow. “It could’ve been a recent development. You were always good at building things.”

_“You mean like the toolboxes we made in woodworking? That was way back in high school, and we didn’t need bathmats for that.”_

Damen switches to using his arm to push the cart, taking the phone back in his hand and leaning into the receiver. “My place needed a bathmat.” He says, the realization striking him like punch to the gut.

_“... Shit dude, okay, go grab one just in case, then.”_

“I don't need it anymore.”

There’s some creaking on the other end of the line and Damen knows Nik just sat up straight on the couch. _“Why not?”_ Nik sighs, sounding like he already regrets asking.

“I can’t go back there, Nik,” Damen shakes his head, turning down the next aisle. He grabs a pack of cheese crackers, a nice snack for later. “There’s too much there.”

 _“Damen, it’s only been a week. You’ll get over it eventually, and you’re going to need somewhere to stay.”_ Nik says slowly. _“You can’t live on my couch for the rest of your life.”_

“I could-”

_“Damen!”_

“- sell it.”

A long silence stretches out across the line, the only thing audible is Nik’s confused noises. _“The bathmat?”_

“The apartment, Nik.” Damen reaches the end of the aisle and stops on the corner, turning to face the shelves for some semblance of privacy. “I could sell it, and I can always find somewhere else afterward, it doesn’t matter.”

_“I mean, it kind of matters a little bit.”_

“I know!” Damen blurts out, earning himself a glare from a middle-aged white woman. He mouths an apology at her, which she ignores, and hunches further over his phone. “I know, Nik. Look, it’s just- there’s just so much of us- of _him_ , you know?”

_“This is serious, Damen. You didn’t even consider selling after Jo.”_

“This isn’t like Jo.”

No, this is nothing like what happened with Jokaste. Damen loved her, yes, but she didn’t love him back, obviously. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have slept with his brother. She didn’t love him like Laurent did.

Or, at least, Damen _thought_ he did. He isn’t quite sure anymore.

“I never wanted to buy a bathmat because I thought,” Damen takes a deep breath, lowering his voice further. He doesn’t know if Nik can hear him, but saying it feels nice. “I thought that maybe, in the future, we might get a bigger house, with a bigger bath, and the mat we had would be too small.”

Neither of them say anything for a while and Damen almost hangs up, but Nik speaks up loud enough to stop him.

_“No offense, but that’s a stupid reason not to get a bathmat, dude.”_

Damen snorts. “Thanks, bud,” he exhales and draws himself back up, pushing the cart forward. He reaches for a pack of oreos, but reconsiders and moves on.“The next thing on the list is milk. Do you want carton or jug?”

_“I’ll eat your entire DVD collection if you try to buy carton.”_

Damen turns the corner and collides with somebody’s side. The phone slips out of Damen’s hand and clatters into the cart, right beside the bananas, and he goes to reach for it when he realizes who he collided with.

“L- Laurent?”

The only indication that Laurent is surprised is the tenseness of his shoulders. He tilts his head and gives Damen a long stare. Damen doesn’t even dare to breathe.

“Is that it?” Laurent asks, clipped, and Damen winces at the tone.“You had much more to say last time I saw you.”

“You, uh. You surprised me. I didn’t think you would be here,” he’s unable to decide what to do with his hands, wringing them nervously. He can feel a flush creep up his neck. “Didn’t expect to see you after you left…”

Laurent huffs minutely. “You didn’t expect me to be shopping at the one grocery store in the area? I suppose you’d like me to take the hour-long commute to the east end, if it saves you the trouble of having to look at me.”

“I like looking at you!”

Laurent is definitely displeased, if the way he straightens is any clue. He closes his mouth and his teeth _clack_ shut, the corners of his lips drawing into a line.

“I mean,” Damen scrambles to correct the blunder. “Of course I like looking at you, since we- you know, for two years. And- and I _did_ ask you to-”

“You did ask. I said no.” Laurent cuts him off before he says anything stupid, and Damen is almost grateful for it. Almost, because the reminder of his rejection brings a fresh wave of pain. Laurent has the expression he usually wears when Damen has his emotions written across his whole face, a sort of exasperated squint that says he’s only humoring Damen’s attempts at control.

“Laurent…” Damen tries, but already Laurent is turning on his heel and walking away, the metal shopping basket bouncing against his hip. Breathing a curse, Damen lets go of his cart and hurriedly grabs at Laurent’s free hand, pulling him back.

“What-” Laurent says, choked and eyes wide, and anybody as well-versed in his brand of subtlety can see he’s surprised and scared… _Of me?_ Damen wonders.

“Laurent, why did you say no?” he knows he sounds desperate, and maybe he is. He had a plan, for once, and it seemed so good at the time. “Was it, was it something I did?”

A nerve in Laurent’s jaw twitches dangerously, and Damen lowers his gaze. He runs his thumb over Laurent’s fingers and frowns.

“Your nails…” he shakes his head. It was something they’d talked about, had been working on, and Laurent had been letting them grow, but now they’re bitten down to the skin again.

“Damianos, let me go.” Laurent hisses and tugs at his hand, delicate but urgent, glancing to the side where other shoppers are staring at them judgingly. “Let me go.”

Damen looks up and their eyes meet, and he tries to plead silently. Please don’t go, please tell me why you ran, please say you love me. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out. One by one, his fingers loosen, and Laurent’s hand slips out of his. Laurent’s chest heaves with a soundless gasp, and Damen almost thinks he might stay, say something, but then he’s gone.  

Motion slowly returns to the world and the other shoppers turn back to their own groceries. Damen stands there for a few minutes, his hand still open and reaching, then shuffles back to his cart. He picks up the phone and holds it to his ear, surprised to hear Nik still talking.

 _“- never do anything to your DVD collection, I swear, I know how important that stuff is to you, man,”_ Nik babbles on, and idly Damen wonders if he’d been at it this whole time.

“It’s fine,” Damen stops him. “I’m coming home, okay?”

Nik’s chatter grinds to a halt as he hears the change in Damen’s tone. _“Alright, bud. Take care, then, okay? Don’t forget the milk.”_ and then he hangs up.

Damen looks at the meagre haul in his cart blankly. He grabs the box of crackers and puts it back on the shelf, then makes his way to the cash registers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i should probably space these out a little bit :0c what can i say ive just been on a roll this weekend lol  
> and my wordcount per chapter just keeps slowly increasing!!! i need to calm down
> 
> thanks so much for your kudos and comments!!! <3


	4. Damen - Breakeven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _They say bad things happen for a reason_   
>  _But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding_

It comes as a surprise when somebody knocks on the door. Nikandros usually walks in without warning, which is fair given it’s his apartment, and no one really visits otherwise. The knock comes again while he’s still wondering who it might be, so Damen rolls off the couch with a groan and pads barefoot to answer it.

He nearly slams the door back in her face, but an immaculately-manicured hand stops it before it hits the jamb. She pushes it back open smoothly, and Damen is helpless to let her into the apartment. Her waving blonde hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands carefully tugged to frame her face. She stands in the middle of the small, messy living room, taking in the mess of empty cans and tupperware.

“Jokaste, what are you doing here?” he says in place of a greeting, and she snorts inelegantly at it.

“Hello Damen. I’m doing well, thank you for asking. And how are you?” Jokaste gives him a sweet smile that he doesn’t believe for a second. “You know, funny story, but I bumped into Laurent the other day, and asked him the same thing. Do you know what he told me?”

Damen stays by the door and crosses his arms, refusing to look her in the eye.

She eyes him up and down and shakes her head. “He told me that your wellbeing is none of his business, anymore. Now, I was curious about what he meant, and since he all but _ran_ from me after that, I tried to call you.”

“My phone’s been on silent, lately,” Damen tells her, shrugging. “Sorry I missed your call. We haven’t really talked in a while, and things happened recently and I got distracted…”

“I know.” She comes back to him and lays a hand on his arm. The touch is soft, and he doesn’t brush her away. “Nik told me, when I called him.”

Already, Damen can see where this is going. He sighs and takes Jokaste’s hand in his own, just holding it without turning her away. “Listen, Jo, I’m fine, really,” he says, squeezing her hand gently. She squeezes back, and the gesture is sweeter than she knows. “It sucks a lot, but I’ll get over it. I will.”

“Damen, you love with all your heart. It’s not a bad thing. I know something like this must be very hard on you,” she pulls on his hand and leads him to the couch to sit. “You’re allowed to not be fine, and feel bad about it. You don’t have to minimize your own feelings.”

Damen lets Jo sit first, glancing at the rest of the living room with a sheepish wince. Nik is going to kill him when he comes home if he doesn’t clean up after himself eventually. Damen sits down beside Jo after moving a stray tupperware lid and ignoring her pointedly raised eyebrow. Everything looks like a mess beside her, anyway.

He breathes deeply and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that,” he mutters, pressing his shoulders into the backrest. “I just have to-” he makes a motion like throwing something underhand, “get over it, somehow.”

“Do you have a plan for that?” Jo hums thoughtfully, and Damen can already see the gears working in her mind. Always a woman of action.

“I was thinking of selling the apartment. Nik isn’t entirely on board with the idea, but I think I need somewhere new,” he confesses.

“A fresh start is probably good.” Jo pats his arm approvingly. “A lot of people would say to try dating again, but that won’t be good for you. You’ll be weak and vulnerable, and too many people will want to take advantage of that.”

“Thank you,” Damen shoots her a sarcastic look. “I’m not an injured antelope, you know.”

“I know, honey, I’m just looking out for you. It’s the only habit that stuck after our breakup.” Jo says flippantly, tossing her head and shaking the golden ponytail. A few more strands escape the tie.

Damen looks at her, past her carefully groomed exterior, and he thinks he might see the woman he used to love. “That’s… Jo, thank you.”

“I can help you with the selling and moving, you know,” she gives him a genuine smile, and the pieces of Damen’s heart remember how they used to flutter. “I managed all the paperwork when we moved last month, so-”

“Wait, you moved?” Damen interjects, frowning. “I didn’t hear about that.”

“Well, you said so yourself,” Jo shrugs. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Huh. You’re right, I should try harder to keep in touch. How come you moved, then? I thought you and Kastor were staying at dad’s house. How is he, by the way?”

“He’s doing quite well. Misses you,” she says, the corners of her lips quirking. “He still thinks you hate him, by the way. Give him a call every once in a while, and try to meet up sometimes, would you? He’d love to hear your congratulations in person.”

Damen cocks his head, bemused. “Congratulations for what?” He asks, and Jokaste puts a finger to her lip, smirking. “Jo, just tell me. What is it?”

“Well,” she draws the word out and rolls her eyes. “We moved, because we decided we wanted a house closer to the school. You know, for later.”

The dots connect in Damen’s head, and his eyebrows shoot upward. “You- Jo, are you guys-”

“It’s still early, we haven’t told anyone,” she breathes, biting her lip. “There’s been a few signs, but I haven’t gotten a test yet, and Kas said he wants us to get married first…”

Damen can see the white-picket-fence life unfolding before him, with kids and a nice car and sun-faded plastic toys lying out in the yard, and it isn’t his. Still, he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face as he pulls Jokaste into a tight hug.

“Jo, god, that’s amazing!” he laughs, and her arms come around him as well. She pats his back as he holds her. “I’m so glad for you guys! Oh, you’ll have to let me name them, it’s my right as a future uncle!”

“You can make _suggestions_ ,” she agrees and leans back. A strange look draws over her face and she frees one of her hands, passing it over Damen’s face. “Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mention…”

Damen is surprised to see her hand come away wet, and he raises his own hand to wipe his eyes. He realizes too late that his shoulders are shaking, as well. He draws in a rattling breath and asks, “Are you guys gonna get a dog?”

She can see what he’s trying to do and gives him a rueful smile, nodding. “Two of them. Both golden retrievers, and we’ll name them Princess and Rex.”

Damen laughs at lowers his head to her shoulder, and she lets him. Her fingers brush through his hair soothingly. “Laurent would have wanted a cat,” Damen chuckles, and Jo only presses her cheek against his head.

That’s how Nik finds them, ten minutes later. He drops his gym bag by the door, looking confused and slightly annoyed. Damen sniffs wetly before he lets go of Jokaste, wiping her damp shoulder apologetically, and sits back.

“I’m gonna sell the apartment,” he announces, and Nik sighs.

“Okay, bud, let me put my stuff away and we’ll look into it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not posting yesterday, i took a writing break!! i tried to speed finish this so i could post it within 2 days lol  
> so like, if this chapter seems a bit rushed, that’s because it is -strikes a pose-
> 
> also thank you so much for the comments and kudos, i'm really flabbergasted that you guys like this!!! tysm <3
> 
> i love the idea of kastor redemption arc damen deserves the brother he loved!!!!!  
> and if you also call jokaste 'jo' i love you


	5. Laurent - Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _From the second I was born it seems I had a loaded gun_   
>  _And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I love_   
>  _Oh, I shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that I love_

Laurent pads out of the guest room, sliding past where Auguste is sitting at the table, reading the newspaper like an old man, and snatching a mug from the countertop. He ignores his brother’s probing looks as he fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove to boil.

“Good morning?” Auguste says, staring at him incredulously. “It’s only two in the afternoon, Lau, no big deal or anything.”

Laurent frowns and glances at the clock on the stove. “I apologize, I didn’t realize it was so late,” he says, mostly to himself.

“Well,” Auguste huffs, and rolls himself around the table to be closer to Laurent. “Since _I_ woke up at a reasonable time today, I went and did the grocery shopping for us. Guess who I saw at the store?”

He doesn’t want to guess, the memory of his last trip to the grocery store still fresh in his mind. He flexes his hand, the one that Damen had grabbed, absentmindedly. Auguste watches his face for reactions, and he schools himself into vicious stoicism.

“... Nikandros.” Auguste finishes. “I ran into Nikandros. Or, rather, I was minding my own business and he ran up to me and gave me a piece of his mind.”

The kettle begins to scream, perfectly mirroring Laurent’s own internal reaction. He turns off the heat and moves the kettle to a cork mat on the counter. “I imagine what he had to say wasn’t particularly polite?” he muses as he pours the boiling water into his mug, and then into a second one for his brother.

“No, but I suppose it’s fair enough,” Auguste hums.

“It’s not fair to get mad at you. He should be mad at me.”

“He shouldn’t have to be mad at you to begin with,” Auguste points out, and Laurent gives him a pointed glare. “As well, he has every right to be mad at me. I told him I could, well. Fix this,” he gestures vaguely, “and I didn’t.”

Laurent turns away from him and rummages through the cupboard for teabags. He reaches for a familiar box, and comes up short. It’s the kind Damen likes to buy, not because it tastes particularly good but because the drawing on the label is funny. He shakes his head and grabs the box, and dumps the remaining bags into the trash.

“Hey! That’s perfectly good tea!” Auguste protests, craning his neck to watch as Laurent folds the box up and stuffs it into the trash as well.

“You have three other kinds, you’ll live,” is what Laurent replies, and to prove this he pulls out two bags of the other brand, plops them into the steaming cups, and hands one to Auguste.

“I’m really more of a coffee guy,” Auguste peers down at his cup skeptically. “And you didn’t have to throw the whole box out, it was still good. It was a gift from- ah.”

 _Don’t act like you understand!_ Laurent wants to scream, but he takes a gulp of tea instead and winces at the under-steeped taste that burns his tongue. He puts the cup down and grabs the empty kettle, taking it to the sink to rinse.

“You don’t have to cut everything of his out of your life, Lau,” Auguste sets his own cup aside and rolls closer. “You can still fix this, you know? He’ll take anything you give him. He’d do anything to have you even a little bit.”

“Then why didn’t he stop me?” Laurent asks, the scene they’d caused at the grocery store still replaying in his mind. “Why didn’t he hold on, or ask me to stay?”

“Did you run?”

“I…”

Auguste sighs. “Of course you did,” he rubs the spot between Laurent’s shoulder blades. “I know it’s hard for you not to run, Lau, but you have to see that this isn’t exactly sending the message that you want to be chased. Plus, Damen would never do anything that could potentially hurt you.”

“It’s better like this, anyway.” Laurent puts the kettle back on the cooled stove with a little more force than necessary. He grabs his mug and takes another sip, enjoying the bitter flavor.

“You can’t really believe that.”

“No.”

Auguste stares at him, waiting for any kind of elaboration, but Laurent gives him none. He sighs, dumping the contents of his mug into the sink. He rolls himself back to the table and picks up his newspaper.

Laurent holds his mug in both hands as he continues to drink, the tea dark and oversteeped by the time he’s finished. “I need a new phone, by the way,” he says, and Auguste snorts.

“You should have thought of that before you dumped your old one in the sink,” he chastises, even though they both know he’ll get Laurent one anyway.

Laurent rinses out his and Auguste’s mugs before putting them in the dishwasher. He waffles between sitting in the kitchen, the living room, or going back to the guest room. Eventually he decides the living room might be a nice change of scenery.

“Oh, right,” Auguste looks up at him. “Nikandros stopped me at the grocery store.”

“I know,” Laurent nods.

“He’s selling the apartment.”

Laurent wonders, for a moment, why Nikandros selling his apartment is any of his or Auguste’s business, until it clicks. “He’s selling the apartment?” The echo sounds choked as it leaves his lips.

“Mm-hm,” Auguste purposefully returns his attention to the newspaper. “Everything is being packed up. He says your stuff is being boxed separately and he’ll drop it off when he has time.”

Laurent doesn’t want any of it. He must have said so out loud because Auguste is frowning hard at the newspaper, and Laurent knows for a fact that the funnies section isn’t usually so frustrating to read.

“Laurent, you need your stuff. You can’t live off of pyjamas, two shirts, and a pair of sweatpants forever.”

“I still have the clothes I came here with,” he points out, and Auguste scowls.

“You’ll get your stuff back, and we’ll make the guest room your room.” Auguste says, his tone final.

Laurent turns on his heel and heads to the guest room instead. He doesn’t quite slam the door, but he’s tempted to. The aforementioned two shirts and sweatpants are draped over the chair in the corner, having been deemed ‘laundry’ a few days ago. He scoops the clothes into his arms and marches to the washing machine.

He stuffs the clothes in one at a time, hesitating on one of the shirts. It belonged to Damen, before he’d stolen it. He doesn’t know quite why he wanted it in the first place, the sleeves are too long for it to be considered a t-shirt, and the design is faded and lopsided. Damen had laughed when Laurent declared he was keeping it.

 _That’s my favourite shirt, though!_ Damen had said, and Laurent had called him a filthy liar because he’d never seen Damen wear it once. Laurent had worn it more times than Damen ever did, and the bottom left side of the hem is stretched and bunched from when Laurent would tie it into a knot or tighten it with an elastic band.

 _It’s my favourite,_ Damen insisted. _But only when you’re wearing it_.

Laurent shoves it into the machine, grabbing a few of Auguste’s things and burying it with them. He closes the machine door viciously, punching in the settings uncaringly and starting the cycle.

He’s on the bed in the guest room reading when the machine beeps, signaling the end of the wash. He hears Auguste emptying the load of clothes into the dryer when suddenly he cries out.

“Oh no, Laurent!” he shouts, and Laurent is on his feet in an instant. He stumbles to the door and pulls it open, looking down the hall to where Auguste is sitting in front of the washing machine. He holds up a wrinkly-looking rag with a stricken expression. He turns to Laurent and frowns. “Your favourite shirt…”

The shirt is completely ruined, the hot water warped the graphic into an unrecognizable mess and made it completely unwearable. With a sharp, sudden intake of breath, Laurent’s eyes move from the shirt to Auguste’s face, still inexplicably sad over a shirt. He pulls at the fabric in an attempt to fix the shrunken image while Laurent slowly closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my computer is in for cleaning/repairs rn so sorry for the delayed update!! im posting this from my phone so im also sorry if theres any formatting mistakes :0c
> 
> thanks again so much for the comments and kudos and stuff!!!


	6. Auguste - Tennis Elbow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _... And my head feels like it's ready to blow_

Auguste calls Jord after breakfast. The driver, now used to receiving Auguste’s calls at any hour of the day, picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Jord’s voice crackles through the receiver, sounding like he’d spoken through a mouthful of rocks. Or perhaps toast.

“Can you drive me to the mall? I need to get a new phone for my brother,” Auguste explains, said brother peeking out of the guest room like a curious fish before retreating again.

“Sure, yeah, just give me ten, twenty minutes tops, and I’ll be there.” Jord says and hangs up. Auguste slides himself off the stool and into his wheelchair, wiggling a bit to make himself comfortable.

He rolls himself to the door of the guest room and knocks before pushing it open. “Lau, I’m going to get you a new phone,” he gives his brother a cheerful thumbs up.

“You know I was joking, right?” Laurent says, not looking up from his book. “I can go get one myself later in the week.”

“True, but I like having something to do,” Auguste shrugs. “It’s good for me to get out of the house more often. You can use the landline to call me if you need anything, okay? I’m gonna go wait for Jord outside.”

“Say hi to him for me,” Laurent replies as Auguste closes the door.

The sun is nice today, so Auguste rolls himself down the porch ramp and basks in the warmth for the ten minutes it takes Jord to arrive. The large black van turns the street corner a little sharply, tires squealing as it comes to a stop in front of the house.

Jord comes out of the driver’s side and hurries to open the sliding door. “Sorry, I came as fast as I could!” he huffs, and helps Auguste up the ramp. The disability services that provides this sort of driver and vehicle have always paired Auguste with Jord, and the two of them are efficiently strapping in the wheelchair in sync, familiar with the mechanics of the securing system.

“It’s fine, you came earlier than I expected you, truly,” Auguste reassures him and helps pull the belts around himself. “Laurent says hi, by the way.”

“That’s nice of him. We’re going to get him a new phone, right?” Jord asks as he seats himself back in the driver’s side and starts the car. “What happened to his old one?”

“He waterboarded it.”

Jord makes a false start, jolting the entire van forward a few inches before he manages to hit the brakes. The squealing the tires makes is ghastly. “He what?!”

“He got mad and dunked it in the sink,” Auguste explains. Confusion spreads over Jord’s face as he peels away from the curb, heading toward the mall.

“But why would he do that?” Jord asks, turning to Augustem who visibly winces. “Oh? That bad?”

“Okay, so, you know Damen?”

“The boyfriend? Built like a tall, dark, handsome tank?”

“That’s… honestly, that’s a pretty fair description, but yeah.” Auguste sinks into the backrest of his chair. “Anyway, they broke up.”

“No way! Really? They seemed like they were doing great! They broke up?!” Jord looks highly scandalized, as though the very thought of Laurent and Damen being apart is unthinkable.

“It goes beyond that, actually. Damen proposed, and Laurent said no.”

Jord lets out an audible gasp, and when he comes to a red light he turns to Auguste abruptly. “You have to be pulling my leg. There’s no way Laurent would have said no, they’re practically already married in every sense except legally.”

Auguste shrugs helplessly. “I wish I was kidding.”

Jord continues to stare at Auguste until the light turns green, at which point he continues driving in complete, confused silence. They almost make it to the mall without speaking but Jord shakes his head and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“But, like, why though?” He asks, glancing at Auguste. “Why would Laurent say no?”

Auguste sighs. “I’m not sure, really. Lau’s always been a pack of nerves, and I think he just got… spooked? He’s been burning bridges ever since, and he’s trying to act like it doesn’t matter, but I know this has got to be killing him too. It’s not healthy by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s just how he is.”

“And have they tried to talk it out?”

“Nope. That’s why he drowned the phone.”

Jord makes some disbelieving, one-handed gestures as he parks the van. He puts the handicapped parking tag on the rearview mirror and leans over to help Auguste unbuckle. He exists the van and goes around the other side to slide the door open, and Auguste rolls himself down the ramp as it unfolds.

“Anyway, I’m getting him a new one, and it’s going to be waterproof,” Auguste declares as he heads for the mall entrance. Jord falls into step beside him. “With a military-grade break-proof and throw-proof case. I’ll make it fireproof, too, if I have to.”

“Seems like a bit much, no?”

Auguste brakes in the middle of the parking lot and turns the whole chair to face Jord. “I only have one brother,” he says, holding up his index finger. “And he’s only getting one phone. I’ll make this one count even if i go bankrupt doing it.”

“Fair enough,” Jord shrugs, and takes it upon himself to maneuver the wheelchair out of the driving lane and onto the sidewalk, before the soccer mom in the beige sedan slowly creeping up behind them starts honking. Auguste huffs indignantly but allows it.

Thankfully, the phone store isn’t too far into the mall, and there aren’t many people waiting to speak with the clerks, so Auguste manages to get his hands on a phone pretty fast. The woman reassures him that the phone is waterproof for about two meters, and can be submerged at that depth for around thirty minutes before the device starts to fail.

“So can I register it with a new number?” Auguste asks, rolling the box in his hands. “My brother had some… well, long story short, there are some people he’d rather not have contacting him anymore, and it would be a lot easier if he could change his number entirely.”

“Of course!” the lady says with a smile. “We can cancel your old number and replace it, just fine. You can transfer any files you’d like to keep to the new phone without using the same SIM card, as well, but you’ll have to use computer applications for it.”

“That’s fine, Laurent knows how that should work,” he looks at Jord, who nods in confirmation despite not really knowing what technological feats Laurent is capable of.

“Great, I’ll register the new number and ring you up, then!” the woman beckons them over to the desk, and she spends the next handful of minutes typing out the details. Shortly, Auguste and Jord leave the store with a brand new phone and an unnecessarily expensive Otterbox case.

They pass by a Bath & Bodyworks and Auguste slows to a stop in front of it. Jord almost walks past him, but manages to turn just in time.

“Do you want anything here?” Auguste asks, pointing at the store. “I think i’ll grab some hand soap, they have a special right now. Six of them for eighteen dollars, that’s pretty good!”

Jord contemplates the store for a few seconds. “Maybe a candle, I know Aimeric likes that kind of stuff.”

They head into the store, Auguste nearly knocking over a display with his chair, and split up. Auguste grabs one of each soap on the bottom shelves, declining help from a kind employee, and rolls over to where Jord is staring at the multitude of three-wick candles.

“They’re so expensive,” Jord laments, picking up one that’s labelled ‘teakwood mahogany’. He takes off the lid and sniffs it tentatively, face screwing up in disgust. “This just smells like dirt.”

“Try this one,” Auguste hands him a ‘Comfort: Vanilla and Patchouli’ candle. “I have a feeling Aimeric would like this one.”

Jord takes the candle without even smelling it and heads decisively to the cash registers. The young man behind the counter asks him if he’d like to sign up with his email to receive sale promotions, to which Jord vehemently refuses. He pays for the candle and waits for Auguste outside.

The same clerk waits patiently as Auguste unloads all six bottles of soap onto the counter, rings them all up, and hands them to Auguste in a paper bag.

“Thanks, have a good day!” Auguste waves. He puts the bag in his lap and rolls himself out to meet with Jord. “Did you want to go look at anything else, while we’re here?” he asks.

“Well…” Jord trails off, looking wistfully at the chocolate store across the aisle.

They make it back to Auguste’s house a few hours later, carrying more bags than they anticipated having. Auguste gladly gives Jord two bottles of hand soap in exchange for the dark chocolate pieces in his assorted grab-bag, an entirely fair exchange given how many of the pieces ended up being dark chocolate anyway.

Auguste pushes the front door open with some difficulty, juggling his shopping bags ungracefully. Laurent must have heard him struggling, because the door swings open a moment later at the same time as the sound of Jord driving away.

“I trust you had a good time?” Laurent raises an eyebrow delicately and steps aside to let Auguste into his own home.

“I did!” Auguste replies, and hands him the phone box and case. “This is for you, everything else is for me. Mostly.”

“Thank you,” Laurent takes the phone and puts it on the table, where Auguste also dumps his bags. “How much did it cost?”

“Irrelevant,” Auguste waves him off. “Just don’t destroy this one, and we’ll call it even.”

“Alright.”

Auguste unpacks his bags slowly, putting two bottles of soap by the sink and saving the other two for the bathroom, and storing his chocolate in the pantry on a low shelf where Laurent won’t find it and judge him for it. The other bags go with him to his room, and he tosses them onto his bed for later.

“Oh, right!” he exclaims, and wheels himself back into the kitchen where Laurent is unboxing his new phone. “I got you a new phone number too, so your old SIM card won’t work. You’ll have to use a computer app to transfer your files from one card to the other, okay?”

Laurent nods, but offers no other response. Arms tired and feeling overall quite drained, Auguste heads back into his room and hauls himself onto the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im glad ao3 is back up!! i added a few extra hundred words out of boredom while i was waiting lol
> 
> thanks again for all the kudos/comments!! <3


	7. Damen - Everything Must Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Close that white picket fence_   
>  _The one you'll miss when you're alone_   
>  _He said everything must go_

Nikandros and Jokaste accompanied him back to his apartment. Damen thought, at first, that having both of them there would be excessive, but when the door swings open with three weeks’ worth of dust billowing out in a cloud he’s grateful for their presence.

Jo had assured him that leaving the furniture would make the apartment more appealing to potential buyers, so they were really only here for the clothes, knick-knacks, and anything he can’t bear to part with. When he casts a look around the apartment, Damen concludes that it probably won’t be much.

“Alright, so anything with names and photos absolutely needs to go,” Jo announces as she pulls a picture frame off a bookshelf and hands it to Damen, who puts it back on the shelf facedown. “Anything you don’t want to keep or give back to Laurent can go into a separate box, and I’ll take it to a drop-off bin later. Everything that’s not furniture is  _ going _ .”

“What about stuff like this?” Nik’s voice floats in from the kitchen. Damen and Jo scurry forward to see what he’s looking at. Nik holds up a decorative centerpiece, a small replica of some greek statue Laurent had found funny when they’d visited Europe for a few weeks. He’d jokingly compared it to Damen for the entirety of the trip.

“Do you want it?” Jo asks, turning to Damen. He starts to shakes his head, then nods.

“I’ll hang on to it,” he says. “It’s a nice souvenir.”

“Of the trip, or of you?” Jo levels him with a pointed glare.

Damen frowns at the statue, thinking on it for a while. Nik’s arm looks like it starts to hurt holding it up by the time he reaches a decision. “Toss it,” he says.

“Good boy,” Jo pats his back gently. “Fresh start, remember?”

He breathes in slowly, deeply, and nods. Fresh start. He turns Nik loose on the apartment and his friend begins packing things into boxes, sorting them carefully the way he knows Damen would want. Jo sweeps past both of them to start on the bedroom. Damen stands alone in the kitchen with the box of ‘toss’ stuff, thumbing the dust off of the small statue.

He carries the ‘toss’ box with him to the living room and puts it on the couch. A pillow hits him in the back and he whips around to glare at Nik, who’s arm is still outstretched from his throw.

“Keep or toss?” Nik asks, smirking.

“Leave, actually,” Jo calls from the bedroom, leaning out slightly to frown at them disapprovingly. “What did I say about furniture?”

“Sure, whatever,” Nik picks the pillow back up and puts it haphazardly on the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Damen asks her, heading over to the bedroom to check in. She holds up a box half-filled with familiar fabric.

“Clothes,” she states. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to pack Laurent’s things yourself.”

He wouldn’t, he knows, because he’ll want to keep it all. On the off chance he might… but no. Damen sags and smiles at her appreciatively. She’s satisfied with the non-answer and continues packing clothes into the box. 

The sight of the well worn clothes going into the box seems so  _ final _ , it hurts Damen’s chest. He lets Jo work and goes back to the living room to help Nik with the books.

\-----

They stop for a lunch break, and Jo nearly hits Damen for leaving food in his fridge to spoil. Nik offers to get takeout, to avoid an argument, and Jo stays with Damen to throw out the contents of his fridge.

She looks at him from where she’s emptying a bottle of smoothie into the sink, concern in her gaze. It makes him feel better about today. He leans against the table and rests his chin in his hand.

“How are you holding up, honey?” she asks, rinsing the empty bottle out before putting it aside with the rest of the recycling.

Damen sighs. “Could be worse, I guess,” he admits. “Packing it all up makes it seem so…”

“Real?” she smiles wryly.

“I’ve just been floating in a haze for three weeks.” Damen picks at the table’s surface absently. “It hurts, but now it hurts for real.”

“You are moving a little fast with selling the apartment, but I think it’s good to distract yourself.” Jo sits down across from him, wiping her hands with a paper towel. “You won’t have too much time to wallow and make yourself feel worse.”

“I already feel pretty fucking bad,” Damen grimaces and closes his eyes. “What… what did I do wrong, Jo? Did I go too fast? Did I push too much?”

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” Jo scoots the chair closer, and rests a hand on his arm. “He chose this, on his own. You did what you thought was the logical next step forward. Maybe a little fast, maybe you could have talked about it more, but that’s past now. You can’t blame yourself for your own feelings.”

“Do you talk about it a lot with Kas?” Damen opens his eyes and watches her redden and shift nervously.

“Yes,” she says after a moment. “It comes up a lot, but you know Kastor still feels guilty about ‘stealing’ me from you, Damen. I think, maybe, it makes him hesitate.”

She slumps into the table dejectedly, and Damen puts his hand over hers. “He shouldn’t feel that way, I’ve gotten over it a long time ago. We were practically still kids, Jo, you know I could never hold a grudge that long.”

The look she gives him is understanding, exasperated, and exhausted all at once. 

“I told him I wanted to see him today, when we’re done here,” Damen tells her, and she perks up.

“Don’t tell him I told you, about…”

“I’ll leave that surprise to you,” he chuckles. 

They share the silence, waiting for Nik to come back. When the text comes that he’s on his way, Jo gets up to make some tea. She carefully boils the water and prepares the tea bags, and pulls three cups out of the cupboard-

“Not that one,” Damen says, startling her with the hollow sound in the kitchen. “Please. That’s Laurent’s cup.”

She looks at the cup she’d taken. It’s an old, yellowed thing with chips and stains on the inside and a faded flower pattern along the outside rim. She glances between the cup and Damen, looking just as worn as the cup, and her hand tightens around it.

“I should smash this thing,” she grinds out. The anger she’d been repressing for weeks, for Damen’s sake, bubbles up in her. “For hurting you. It’d be the least he could give up.”

Damen gets up and comes around the table, and takes the cup from her gently. He puts it back in the cupboard and picks another one, closing the door. He pours the water and begins steeping the tea while Jo moves to the side, seething. 

“I hate seeing you like this,” she tells him. “I hate that he’s making you feel like this. You deserved your happily ever after, not  _ this _ . Every time I see him around town I want to grab him and beg him to go back to you, or at least tell me  _ why _ ...”

“Please don’t hate him.”

“ _ Why not? _ ”

Damen puts both hands on her shoulders, and she trembles under his grasp. “Jo, he’s so anxious,” he says, his eyes pleading. “He’s already so scared of people, and he doesn’t have a lot of friends. Please don’t make him your enemy, not for me.”

“So I should just forget that he’s hurting you?” She sneers, and Damen pulls her into a hug.

“No, of course you don’t have to,” he says hurriedly. “But, I mean, don’t go out of your way to pick on him. Try to be nice, he basically only has Auguste. Even if it sucks for me, I still have you and Nik.”

She relaxes into the hug and he can feel her shaking her head. “You’re too nice to him, even after he broke your heart.” She states, and Damen laughs weakly.

“I love him,” he says. 

\-----

They’d finished packing late into the evening, and they part ways as soon as it’s done. Jo takes the ‘toss’ boxes with her to drop them off, while Nik brings Damen’s and Laurent’s boxes back to his place for now. Damen heads to the park, where Kastor is waiting for him.

Kastor is waiting on Laurent’s bench, and Damen’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at the back of his brother’s head for long minutes as he remembers how to breathe. With mechanical movements, he walks toward the bench and sits down.

Kastor starts at the suddenness of his arrival, but Damen calms him with an awkward wave. “Hi, Kas,” he says.

“Damen, hi,” Kastor returns, smiling hesitantly. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for that,” Damen runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed. “I should’ve kept in touch more, that was my bad.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Damen picks at the hem of his sleeve. “So, how have you been?” he asks.

“I’ve been alright,” Kastor shrugs and leans back into the bench. “Nothing new, really. Same old, y’know? And what about you? I mean…” They stare at each other awkwardly, trying to feel for the conversation. Kastor brings a hand up with a jerky movement, pausing before putting it on Damen’s shoulder. “Jo told me, about Laurent…”

Damen twitches at the name and sighs. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he leans into his brother’s hand, the familiarity comfortable.

“I’m so sorry.” Kastor moves closer and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “That fucking blows, Damen. How’ve you been holding up?”

“Nik and Jo have been there for me a lot,” Damen tells him. “They’re helping me move out of my apartment and everything. Jo’s got good practice after you guys moved.”

“She told you about that?”

Damen huffs in amusement. “Of course. We’re friends, she caught me up on everything.”

Kastor moves away hastily, trepidation written all over his face. “So you know about…?” he trails off, but Damen nods and he closes his mouth with a soft  _ click _ . They speak again simultaneously.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You have my blessing.”

Kastor cuts off with a funny squeak, eyes wide and looking at Damen as though seeing him for the first time. “What?”

“I give you my blessing,” Damen repeats, and pulls Kastor into a hug before he can say anything else. “Kas, you love her. She loves you too, you know? I forgave you for her a long time ago.”

“How could you…” Damen puts his hand over Kastor’s mouth, laughing at his brother’s expression. 

“Kas, of course I forgive you. You’re my brother. It happened so long ago, I’m over it by now.” He bumps his head against Kastor’s. “It was a real shitty thing to do, I won’t lie to you, and I was mad for a long time, but even my dense ass can see you two are perfect for each other.”

Kastor peels his hand away and frowns. “I never really apologized,” he says, and they both know it’s true. He continues before Damen can silence him again, voice shaking. “I didn’t think it was right, before, but I need to say it. I’m so, so sorry, Damen. I wish I could have done it differently.”

“It’s okay, now,” Damen reassures him. “She’s so happy, Kas. You make her really happy. That’s all I really want for you guys.”

Kastor’s face lights up slowly, like a growing bonfire, until he’s beaming through his relief and forced back tears. “She’s happy?” he says, excited disbelief, and Damen knows what he’s about to do is right.

“Yeah,” Damen replies, and he might be crying a bit too. “She’ll be happier if you give her this, though.”

He presses the box into Kastor’s hand, and Kastor’s fingers close around his. He looks down at what Damen gives him in confusion, recognition sparking in his eyes when he opens the box.

“This is dad’s.” Kastor seems at a loss. “Damen, you should keep this.”

“I don’t need it anymore,” Damen says, and Kastor’s eyes meet his, an unspoken apology as he pulls the ring to his chest. Damen feels its loss acutely, but lets him take it.  _ A fresh start _ , he reminds himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Dad would’ve wanted at least one of us to have it,” he grins, nodding encouragingly. “It’s your turn to take the shot.”

Kastor looks down at the golden laurel-engraved ring and chokes on something that sounds like a sob. He pulls Damen into a hug again, the corner of the box digging into his shoulder blade as Kastor squeezes him tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Kastor says again, and Damen pats his back.

“Just make her happy,” he orders. “And let me name your kids.”

“You can  _ suggest _ names,” Kastor argues, and Damen laughs, much to his confusion. He feels lighter than he had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late a bit, sorry! made it 2k this time to make up for it
> 
> and im sorry damen, one last shot here and i swear i'll let you have a good day soon :'3c
> 
> thanks so much for the comments/kudos still ily guys


	8. Nikandros - Pompeii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

Nikandros’ phone buzzes obnoxiously in his pocket, and has been doing so for the past ten minutes. If Damen can’t figure out whatever problem he has soon, he might as well text Jo. Nik’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and he glances in the rearview at the boxes he has in the backseat.

Jokaste thought it would be better to take Laurent’s stuff and drop it off while Damen was out looking at potential apartments to move to. A good idea in theory, since he wouldn’t be around to mope while Nik put it all into the car, but at the same time it meant Nik had to carry it all on his own, down two flights of stairs, one box at a time.

The things he’d do for his friend.

Nik pulls up into the driveway of what Jo informed him to be Auguste’s house, where Laurent must be staying by sheer virtue of having no other conceivable place to stay. A hotel room, as she’d argued, would not be sustainable long-term. 

He puts the car in park and fishes his phone out of his pocket, opening the screen to fourteen new messages from Damen, most of which are questions about what makes a good apartment to rent, and the last one saying that Jo answered him. Nik scowls and jams the phone back into his pocket and exits the car just as the front door to the house opens.

“Nikandros?” Auguste calls from the door frame, leaning forward out of his wheelchair to peer around the porch decorations. “What are you doing here?”

“I am still not happy with you,” Nik growls, yanking the back door of the car open and pulling out one of the boxes. “I’m here for Damen, not you.”

“Is that Laurent’s stuff? You guys packed everything away? Did Damen move already?” Auguste rolls himself backward to let Nik into the house. 

He stomps in without looking at the blond man, dropping the box indelicately and hoping it’s the clothes. When the impact isn’t met with a responding crinkle of broken glass, Nik turns back and goes to fetch another box.

“Nikandros, please, let me explain,” Auguste follows Nik out the door, wheeling right up beside him in the driveway as he picks up another box. “I tried to get him to talk, I really did, but Laurent is stubborn.”

“I know how Laurent is, thanks,” Nik brushes past him with the box, not turning at the sound of Auguste frantically rolling himself behind him. “I had to put up with him and Damen being idiots for two years. I know he’s pigheaded.” He puts this box down on top of the other one, a little more delicately. The contents knock together. “I also know that he’s an absolute sucker for his big brother and would do anything for you, so what gives, man? Either you didn’t try hard enough, or you didn’t try at all.”

“That’s not fair!” Auguste protests, stopping in the doorway and blocking Nik from going back to the car. “I’d never push Laurent into doing something he didn’t want to do, but I did try! He almost texted, I swear, but something must have happened between when I spoke to him and Damen’s call…”

“Excuses.” Nik grabs the wheelchair and forcibly pulls it out of the door and toward himself. It brings his face dangerously close to Auguste’s, and he levels the blond with a cold look. “You have no idea what it did to Damen when he figured out Laurent blocked him.”

Auguste meets him with a glare of his own. “And you have no idea what all this is doing to Laurent,” he counters. “My brother is a private, quiet man, but I know he’s suffering just as much as Damen. He’s beating himself up over it so much.”

“Is he?” Nik snorts. He gives the chair another tug and moves it to the side of the vestibule before marching back out the door. He calls out behind him, “I guess you wouldn’t mind getting Laurent for me so I can ask him how he’s feeling, myself? Just to make sure.”

Auguste rolls himself up to Nik’s side again. “Nik, please,” he grabs at his arm before he can reach for another box. “You’re angry now, I know, I understand, but it’s not as black and white as you want it to be.”

“You don’t have a goddamn clue what I want!” Nik shakes his arm free viciously and turns to look Auguste head-on. He makes to speak again but he’s cut off.

“You want Damen to be happy,” Auguste looks at him so earnestly it causes him to falter in his anger. “I want the same thing, too. I want him to be happy, and I want Laurent to be happy. They were happy together, and they could be again! Can’t we just-”

Nik’s phone pings with another flurry of messages, effectively providing him with a pause that he uses to interject. “I’m done with you trying to ‘fix’ this, Auguste,” Nik snaps. “You tried it once, so you say, and it didn’t work. You can throw yourself at it again all you want, but it still won’t work.”

“I know that!” Auguste says loudly, startling Nik. “I know it won’t work, trying to get Laurent to talk. He’s practically a hermit, he only leaves to do groceries and nothing else. He spends all day sitting in my guest room and reads, and rereads, old books. I’m lucky if he even comes out to eat, most of the time I have to take meals to him, and even then I’m not sure he actually eats them. He’s never going to reach out first, Nik.”

“Well that answers your questions, then, doesn’t it?” Nik grabs a third box, and heads back into the house.

“That’s why you have to ask Damen to make the first move,” Auguste explains, trailing behind Nik. “Damen is impulsive, and if you even suggest that he could reach out to Laurent he’ll do it. Laurent is impulsive, but in the opposite direction, and he’ll just draw into himself even more if I so much as  _ think _ about Damen in the same vicinity as him.”

Nik puts the third box on top of the other two and wipes his hands, the cardboard digging into his palms unpleasantly. He moves to the door, where Auguste is watching him from the porch. “I don’t want Damen anywhere near Laurent anytime in the near future,” Nik says, going to get the last box. “He already made his move, and Laurent threw it back in his face. I’m not going to set up my best friend just so he can be disappointed again.”

Auguste doesn’t follow him this time, and Nik fetches the last box in relative peace. His pocket buzzes with a few more texts, which he ignores in favour of dropping off this last box so he can be over with it. He walks past Auguste with the box and puts it on top of the others, making sure the stack won’t fall before leaving. 

He hears Auguste following him to the car but doesn’t turn to him or offer any parting words. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the ignition, ignoring Auguste, who rolls off to the side and watches him with a sad look through the open windows. Nik considers turning the radio on.

“Please think about it, Nik,” Auguste pleads, slumping into his chair. Nik’s resolve wavers, taking in the blond’s frail-looking form alone in the driveway. “Like it or not, I considered you guys my friends, too, and it sucks that this is dividing our group this way. Damen and Laurent deserve to be happy, and as their friends isn’t it our responsibility to make sure they are?”

Nik doesn’t answer, but he looks at Auguste the entire time he backs out of the driveway, and keeps his eyes on him in the rearview as he leaves. His phone pings some more, and he pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it in the backseat.

When he makes it back to his apartment, Nik retrieves his phone and checks the messages.

> **[1:24] the landlord told me this one had bedbug problems in the past omg**
> 
> **[1:24] i cant live somehwere there were bedbugs what if they come back**
> 
> **[1:32] jo told me thats not how bedbugs work but i cant risk it**
> 
> **[1:56] we’re going to another place rn its the last one of the day**
> 
> **[2:07] this place is pretty nice**
> 
> **[2:07] i mean it doesnt LOOK nice on the outside but inside its all modern**
> 
> **[2:08] plus its super affordable and right near a metro station so**
> 
> **[2:12] im gonna take this one i think nik, the place seems pretty nice tbh**

Nik reads the messages impassively, but he’s glad Damen found an apartment so fast. No offense to his friend, but Nik’s place wasn’t built to house two people at once.

He looks at the conversation below Damen’s and frowns. The blocked number stares up at him tauntingly, and he can’t help but remember how Auguste looked as he left. 

Before he can overthink it, he unblocks the number and sends off a text.

> _ I still didnt forgive you, but i see your point [2:30] _
> 
> _ Damen has to heal first but i’ll see about getting him to talk [2:30] _
> 
> **_[2:31] omg thats all i ask for_ **
> 
> **_[2:32] nik thank you so much i’ll try w/ laurent again i swear_ **
> 
> **_[2:32] no promises but i’ll try!!!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLY inspired how i, myself, had to carry five boxes UP two flights of stairs today >:V
> 
> also i timed myself and apparently it takes me about an hour, give or take maybe 10min, to write a chapter :0c
> 
> thanks yall for the comments and kudos you give me life i s2g


	9. Damen - Scratches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So watch me take this_   
>  _~~Home~~ Somewhere else, instead_   
>  _I'll always be the one to hope for_   
>  _Scratches on your legs_   
>  _It's okay, it's okay_

The new apartment is fully furnished, but entirely undecorated. That suits Damen just fine, he prefers minimal decor anyway. Other than clothes, some books, cookware and plates, and the few knick-knacks he kept, he doesn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions to fill the space with.

He puts down a box onto the kitchen counter and turns around, taking in the sight of the new apartment. His, now. It’s smaller than his previous apartment, but then again he has one less person to house. He shakes his head and exhales through his nose; he isn’t supposed to be thinking of that. Fresh start.

He heads back to the hallway when the door across from his opens and a curious head pokes out. Damen stops in his tracks and offers a small wave, smiling. The stranger is a small, blond, curly-haired man with wide hazel eyes, and he waves back hesitantly before slipping back into his own apartment.

Damen passes by Nik on his way down the stairs, and they share a look of pure pain over the unavailable elevator not two feet away from them.

“How many left?” Damen asks, and Nik huffs as he hoists the box a little.

“Less than five,” Nik replies, “but more than I’d personally prefer to have to carry.”

“I’ll try to pick up two at a time, then,” Damen laughs and pats Nik on the back as he passes, and Nik nearly pitches forward, only managing to recover his balance when Damen is far out of reach of retaliation. 

As promised, Damen picks up two boxes out of Nik’s car, stacking them on top of one another, thankful they’re both relatively light. He heads back into the building and looks up by pure chance, the late afternoon sun nearly blinding him. Out of the second floor window he spots the head of the curly-haired stranger from before. As soon as Damen opens his mouth to call out a greeting, the man ducks into his apartment again. Oh well, maybe he’s just shy.

Damen trots up the stairs briskly, before his legs or arms give out, and offers Nik an out-of-breath nod of acknowledgement as they pass in the hall again. He puts the two boxes in the kitchen, on the table, and wipes his hands on his jeans. He takes a box cutter to the ones they’d already brought up, sorting them by the rooms they belong in. Clothes go in the bedroom, cookware in the kitchen, books and DVDs in the living room…

Nik slumps against the doorway with two more boxes, looking annoyed. “One left,” he announces, all but dropping the boxes on the floor and leaving for the last one. Damen checks these ones too, and puts them both in the living room.

The sound is so quiet, when it comes Damen nearly misses it. He looks around the apartment, confused, until it comes again.

“Hello?” Damen turns to the door, eyebrows raised in surprise. The stranger from across the hall leans halfway into the apartment, smiling shyly. He waves, tentative, and steps into the room slowly. “You’re the new tenant?”

“That’s me!” Damen nods, grinning. “You’re from across the hall, right?”

The man nods, looking relieved. “I was hoping it was you. Your friend seems… very stern,” he puts a hand to his mouth and looks over his shoulder, as though afraid Nik might pop out from behind him and be insulted.

“Don’t worry, Nik is like one of those big dogs that looks mean but secretly loves belly rubs,” Damen laughs, and his neighbor chuckles a little as he relaxes. 

“My name is Erasmus,” the neighbor says, coming into the apartment a bit more, wringing his hands. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Damianos,” Damen replies, and holds out his hand to shake. “But you can call me Damen, for short.”

Erasmus shakes his hand gently and smiles. “Welcome to the building, then, Damen. Adrastus is a strict landlord, but he’s quite kind. You’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I will!”

That’s the moment Nik chooses to burst into the apartment with the last box held over his head like baby Simba. He opens his mouth to shout when he spots Erasmus, still holding Damen’s hand, and slowly lowers the box to the floor instead.

“I- I’ll see you around, then,” Erasmus stammers and shuffles out of Damen’s apartment and across the hall under Damen and Nik’s combined gazes. When the door clicks closed, Nik turns to Damen with a Look.

“Not even a full five minutes I leave you alone,” he says, disappointment dripping off every word, “and you find the first blond you can get your hands on.”

“He was just greeting me and welcoming me to the building,” Damen says defensively. “He seems like a nice guy. A little shy, though.”

“Well,” Nik sniffs. “Good. You know Jo doesn’t want you dating anyone else so soon after You Know Who.”

“You can say his name, Nik, it’s not taboo or anything.”

Nik’s phone goes off in his pocket and he pulls it out, checking the notification. “Hey, I gotta head out real quick. D’you think you can unpack on your own?”

“Go for it, I’ll be fine!” Damen says and making a shooing motion at Nik, who gives him a quick peace sign as he backs out and half-jogs toward the stairs. 

Damen closes the door behind him and gets to work, unloading the clothes boxes first. He opens the package of coathangers Jo bought him and hooks them all up in the wardrobe, putting jackets and hoodies on them as he goes. The few dress shirts he has go into the wardrobe as well, along with a mental note to iron them out later.

T-shirts, jeans, gym clothes, and sweaters are all unpacked and refolded before Damen puts them into the drawers, sorting them for his own convenience, and boxers and socks get their own drawer as well. By the time Damen gets to the pyjamas it’s dark, and his stomach growls as an unignorable reminder.

He should probably take a break and grab supper, he thinks, and pulls out the last set of pyjamas. Rather, it used to be a set, but the shirt is missing. He remembers it well because it was unspeakably ugly, a misprinted disaster he’d grabbed from the discount bin at Wal-Mart or something, and it didn’t even match the pants it came with.

He also remembers the last time he’d seen it, when Auguste had invited their little friend group over to his house for movie night and sleepovers. Laurent had been wearing it while Damen wore only the pants, and he’d gotten butter stains on it from Nik throwing popcorn at him. Auguste offered to wash it for him, and Damen had never seen it again.

He chucks the pants into the box and pushes the other empty ones into a corner with his foot. He grabs a pair of pyjamas he’d just put away and changes into them, draping his clothes from the day over the dresser, then crawls under the comforter. 

A fresh start, he reminds himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many of the title song's lyrics would have made good chapter summaries tbh! too bad i could only pick one :0c  
> more boxes for poor Nik lmao! this chapter is a bit short but like... how much unpacking can one really write about
> 
> btw i feel like I post a lot!! so if you want me to slow down or smth you can tell me its all good lol
> 
> thanks again for the comments/kudos i love you!!!


	10. Laurent - Some Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well, some nights I wish that this all would end_   
>  _'Cause I could use some friends for a change_

Laurent jolts upright, chest heaving. He looks down at himself, his hands trembling under the comforter, and barely restrains a full-body shiver. The clock on the nightstand reads one-thirty in the morning. He slips out from under the covers and tiptoes toward the bathroom, not bothering with the lights.

He runs the tap cold and splashes water on his face, ignoring the drops that slide down his neck to absorb into the collar of his pyjama shirt. A shirt that he didn’t have, two days ago, because Nikandros hadn’t dropped off his stuff yet.

The boxes are still stacked, half unpacked, in the hallway. He couldn’t bring himself to empty them into the dressers in the guest room. Auguste had insisted he unpack at least the clothes, and so Laurent had put away as much as he could before he was overwhelmed.

All of his stuff is here. There isn’t a single thing, any piece of him, that Damen had kept. At the back of his mind, Laurent knows that this is the doing of Nikandros and Jokaste, but the reminder that he’s all but cut out of Damen’s life in general is… painful.

It’s no less than he deserves.

He looks up from the sink and catches sight of himself in the mirror. The dark does him no favors, and he knows he looks pale and gaunt. Auguste is a generous host, providing him with food and shelter, but Laurent is an ungrateful guest who spurns the gifts freely given. A stab of guilt embeds itself into the pit of his stomach, and Laurent turns to leave the bathroom.

The boxes loom in the edges of his sight and he forcibly quells the shaking in his fingertips. His mind is a haze as he makes his way back to the guest room.

He won’t be sleeping anymore tonight. He hasn’t slept a full night in about four weeks, three days, and sixteen hours, but who’s keeping count anymore? He changes out of his pyjamas quietly, throwing on a sweater and jeans, and stuffs his wallet and phone into his pockets. He grabs the spare set of keys on his way out and slips out the front door as quietly as he can.

Auguste will kill him, if he ever finds out, though Laurent doesn’t plan on getting caught anytime soon.

The closest bar is a familiar place named Delpha. Damen told him once that the owner was a friend of his father’s. He’d brought him here many times, with Nikandros and Auguste, and they’d played card games all evening. Nik would order a pitcher of some foul cocktail the bartender called ‘griva’, and the three of them would always end up quite plastered by the end of the night, Laurent being the only exception. Laurent has been going back on his own for the past two weeks.

The guard at the door is a sweet-looking man named Pallas, and if it weren’t for the shyer demeanor and softer face, he could easily be mistaken for Damen. Laurent nods at him, sliding by and making for the stool at the far end of the bar.

Lazar spots him across the room, and the barback flips a glass over the flat of his hand, setting it on the counter with a flourish.

“Same as last time, eh?” He asks, his québecois accent rich as he shouts across the bar. “Half griva, half water. A baby drink for a baby drunk, no?”

“I’m not a drunk,” Laurent grumbles, sitting down and taking the glass offered anyway. “And I think I’m allowed to drink a bit, given the circumstances.”

“Yes, the boyfriend you turned down.” Lazar tuts disapprovingly. “Wasted opportunity, in my opinion.”

“I’m aware.” Laurent sighs around the rim of the glass. Lazar had heard all of his tipsy and drunken rambling about his breakup with Damen, as sparse and vaguely detailed as they were. He’s grateful for Lazar’s bluntness, where anyone else would have met him with well-meant, but incredibly annoying, sympathy.

“Still, I think I’ve seen you more than my own boss in the last two weeks,” Lazar shakes his head and sighs. “Maybe take a break from the griva for a bit, eh?”

Laurent hides his smirk behind his glass. “But I’m working on my tolerance,” he deadpans, and Lazar laughs.

“If they pick you up in the ER with alcohol poisoning, it wasn’t me.”

The closing time is rapidly approaching, and patrons file out the front door in varying degrees of drunken stumbling. Laurent watches them go with amusement. Pallas closes the door behind the last of them and pushes his way through the mess of chairs to sit beside Laurent at the bar.

“How are you feeling today, Laurent?” Pallas asks, smile a little pitying. “Nightmare again?”

“Honestly, I don’t even remember.” He replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“ _Ben là,_ ” Lazar snorts, pausing what he’s doing to look up at Laurent with derision. The glass he’d been wiping squeaks under the mercy of the barback’s worn rag. “Why come here if you don’t even know? You could’ve just stayed home instead of wasting seven dollars on a watered-down drink.”

“You think I come here for the griva?” Laurent asks, a rare break of honesty. Both Lazar and Pallas have matching looks of amused, affectionate confusion.

“You come here for the boys, of course!” Makedon calls from the back, poking his head out from the back. His unshaved salt and pepper look makes him seem older than he is. Damen had told him once that the answer would surprise him, but Laurent never built up the courage to ask exactly how old the man is.

“They’re the best boys,” Laurent finishes off his glass and hands it to Lazar to clean. “Annoying, but good company, at this time in the morning.”

“Not bothering you about Theo’s boy, are they?” Makedon frowns at Lazar, specifically.

“Not as much,” Laurent replies truthfully.

“We haven’t seen him around in a while, either,” Pallas states, “or else I’d give him a piece of my mind! He has no business icing you out like this.”

“To me quite fair, I wasn’t exactly forthcoming when I last spoke with him.”

“Sounds like he’s running, to me,” Makedon declares, coming out from the back and leaning against the shelves of bottles with his arms crossed. “Like a dog with his tail between his legs. A coward’s move, I’d say. If he really wanted, he would have come back and sat you down for a real talk. Not this,” the bartender makes a vague gesture, “grocery store telephone business.”

“That was weeks ago, Mak,” Pallas says, and Makedon lets out an annoyed ‘ _bah!_ ’.

Lazar looks at Laurent and grins. “You were actually nice today, so drink’s on the house.” He winks, exaggerated and comical.

“Damn right!” Makedon slaps Lazar’s back heartily, causing him to drop the glass. “Friends of a friend discount. One time only, though, I have a business to run.”

“ _Aie, crisse_ ,” Lazar curses and bends down to pick up the pieces of glass on the floor. Laurent covers his mouth to stifle the laugh that threatens to bloom in his throat as Lazar continues to swear as he begrudgingly cleans up the mess.

“You should go home, Laurent,” Pallas tells him, ignoring Makedon berating Lazar for being a butterfingers. “It’s late, and you don’t want to risk Auguste catching you.”

Laurent gets up to leave, tucking a ten dollar bill under the napkin holder. Lazar waves at him from the floor, while Makedon wishes him a good night.

The air outside is cool, the sky growing purple in the early dawn. Laurent heads back to Auguste’s house, head clear and feeling strangely refreshed despite having done nothing of great importance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a weird chapter and tbh im not sure how i feel abt it!! i want laurent to have a familiar place to be that isn't home, but at the same time i want the people there to be on his side. Makedon, Lazar, and Pallas were all friends with Damen and his friend gang, but Laurent came to them first so they're on his side now i guess :0c
> 
> if it feels weird and a bit rushed, i know. i feel it too lol
> 
> thanks for the comments and kudos guys!! they mean a lot to me!


	11. Damen - Wonderwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There are many things that I_   
>  _Would like to say to you_   
>  _But I don't know how_

Damen spends the next few days unpacking and setting everything up in his new apartment, when a heatwave of unbearable magnitude hits. Every window in the apartment is open, and he’d gitte himself one of those little circular fans and has it on oscillate all the way down the hallway in an attempt to get some airflow.

Understandably, all the other tenants are in the same predicament. Damen can poke his head out the window at any given moment and at least one of his neighbors will be doing the same, trying to cool their damp faces with the wind. That’s how he meets Kallias, his neighbor from the apartment directly below him. He proves to be a cheerful dude and they fall into an easy acquaintance filled with small talk and light teasing over each other’s varying degrees of sweating in the heat.

The cicadas screech endlessly, and Damen is growing used to having them as background noise.

Which is why it shouldn’t _really_ surprise him when he’s woken up by frantic knocking at six in the morning. Groggy and unfocused, he makes his way to the door and swings it open to reveal a frazzled Erasmus, who’s wearing what looks like half of an outfit: bermuda shorts and something Damen only vaguely recognizes as a chest binder.

“Please help,” the short man begs, the door to his apartment open behind him. Over his shoulder, Damen can see his windows are also open.

“Erasmus, good morning. What’s wrong?” Damen asks around a yawn and he wipes his eyes, refocusing on the blond’s fearful expression.

“A really big bug flew into my room and I can’t catch it.” Erasmus’ eyes widen and he holds his hand up with what Damen assumes is an approximate measure of the insect, but surely Erasmus must be exaggerating because there’s no way he has a bug the size of a bar of soap just hanging around in his apartment.

Nodding, Damen crosses the hall barefoot and pads into Erasmus’ apartment, prepared to catch the bug. It’s something he’s used to doing for Laurent, so it’s not much trouble. He grabs a kleenex from the box on Erasmus’ coffee table. “Okay, where is it?”

“It was flying around near my dresser, when I was getting dressed. I think I closed the door on it,” Erasmus says quietly, which explains the state of undress he’s in. He leads Damen to his room and points at the dresser in the far corner.

Damen approaches the dresser and opens it without preamble. A sound almost like a ball of paper hitting the ground meets his ears, and he looks down. A huge, black bug just slightly smaller than a cellphone wiggles around on the ground and flips itself onto it’s legs, rustling its folded wings.

Erasmus lets out a high-pitched scream, which is immediately drowned out by Damen’s own shout of surprise as he trips over himself and falls backward.

\-----

“I’m so sorry for your lamp,” Damen apologizes again, slumping into his own couch while Erasmus holds an ice pack to his shoulder blade. He’d fallen directly into Erasmus’ nightstand and knocked over the clock, a lamp (which promptly broke), and a small decorative piece of carved driftwood.

“It’s okay, it’s a pretty big bug,” Erasmus replies, patting Damen reassuringly.

“Hopefully it’ll fly out the window on it’s own,” Damen sighs. “Sorry for not catching it.”

“It’s okay!” Erasmus repeats, giving him an earnest smile. “I couldn’t catch it either, so I’m no worse off than before.”

Well he’s down one lamp, but Damen chooses not to remind him of it again. Instead he rolls his shoulder, deeming the twinge to be bearable, and takes the ice pack from Erasmus to put it back in the freezer.

“Thank you for trying, though!” Erasmus calls out behind him, watching him move from his spot on the couch.

“It’s no problem, I used to catch bugs for my boyfriend all the time,” Damen shrugs, hiding a wince when the gesture pinches.

Erasmus laughs brightly. “He’s a lucky man to have you! I wish I had someone to catch bugs for me. I’d be in a lot less awkward situations if I did.”

“I mean,” Damen shuffles awkwardly, “He doesn’t really have me to do that anymore. He, uh. Kinda broke up with me. That’s why I moved here, actually.”

“I- I’m so sorry-” Erasmus starts, but Damen cuts him off with a wave.

“It’s alright, I’m trying to move forward. A fresh start, y’know?” Damen shrugs a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh… How about you? Nobody special in your life?”

Erasmus flushes lightly and looks down at his feet. “There’s one guy, in the apartment right below you, actually,” he stumbles on his words a bit. “But- but I haven’t worked up the courage to ask him out, yet…”

They stare at the walls, the furniture, and each other in silence, neither of them really sure how to recover the conversation after that. Biting the inside of his lip, Damen glances between Erasmus’ half-dressed form and his own bedroom.

“Do you- well, I mean. Can I offer you,” Damen says haltingly, “a shirt, or something? To cover up? If you want, of course.”

Erasmus looks down at himself as though just realizing he’s lacking some clothes. “Oh! No, that’s okay, Damen. I don’t think you have anything that would fit me, honestly.”

“Okay,” Damen nods in understanding. “I’ll… go back to your place and catch that cicada, so you can get your own clothes, okay?”

He arms himself with some paper towels from his own kitchen and marches determinedly into Erasmus’ apartment, watching his step in case he accidentally steps on the bug. He finds it on the floor in Erasmus’ room, and it doesn’t appear to have moved much since it fell. Perhaps it’s injured, Damen muses.

He uses the paper towels to pick it up, grimacing and letting out an exaggerated sob when it crunches in his hand. Green oozes into the paper towel, and Damen rushes to put the whole bundle into the toilet and flushes it. He watches as the crushed bug bundle circles the bowl a few times before disappearing into the pipes.

He washes his hands thoroughly, feeling a little guilty at using Erasmus’ soap, and wipes his hands on his pyjama pants before returning to Erasmus’ room with some kleenex to check if any bug residue is left.

After wiping up a small spot of green on the inside of the dresser door and picking up the pieces of broken lamp, Damen decides the room is safe enough and heads back to his apartment to tell Erasmus the good news.

The blond is lightly dozing on the couch when he returns. He gently shakes him awake with a smile.

“The bug is gone,” Damen tells him as Erasmus wakes up. “Do you wanna stick around for breakfast or something?”

Erasmus jumps a little when he realizes where he is, but he relaxes when he spots Damen. “Thank you so much!” He grins and pats Damen’s arm. “And no, thank you, I have breakfast in my apartment. But it’s kind of you to ask!”

“Okay, then,” Damen watches as Erasmus scampers back to his apartment, and waves at him as he closes the door. “Take care, buddy!”

“You too!” Erasmus replies, and the door clicks shut.

Damen closes his door as well and leans against it tiredly. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s quarter to seven in the morning, and it’s not really worth going back to bed. With a sigh, Damen pushes off from the door and trudges back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and some cereal to start the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in previous chapters ive had a couple of people ask me if i planned on having Damen and Laurent get back together, or at least talk it out, sometime soon
> 
> _**i said maybeeeeee** _
> 
> :3c


	12. Laurent - Royals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We don't care_   
>  _We're not caught up in your love affair_

Laurent is at Delpha early, tonight, upon realizing that Auguste went to bed early. He doesn’t attempt to keep up the pretense of trying to sleep, heading straight for the bar as soon as Auguste’s head hit the pillow.

Pallas looks surprised to see him at this time, only moving aside for him at the last second. When Lazar spots him, the barback drops the tumbler he’d been shaking. Only Makedon looks pleased to see him, rounding the counter and opening his arms wide for a hug as Laurent approaches his usual seat.

“Laurent, it’s good to see you!” Makedon booms, cheerful. “Same as normal, yes?”

“Of course,” Laurent shakes his head and sinks into the worn cushion of the bar stool. As soon as Lazar finishes remaking the drink he’d dropped, he pours Laurent’s glass and sets it in front of him. Makedon resumes his place at the bar, taking orders from regulars and strangers alike. Some glance over at Laurent in interest, but they’re warned off by a glare from the bartender.

“No sleeping tonight?” he asks, smile more than a little rueful. Laurent shakes his head.

“I can tell I won’t be able to get to sleep, much less stay asleep,” he replies, taking a sip from the proffered drink. The concentration tastes a little stronger than usual. When he gives Lazar a look, the barback innocently shrugs and returns to making drinks.

Laurent sips at his drink slowly, in no hurry to leave this time, and watches the crowd. Groups of people filter in and out through the door, the bustle and chatter drowning out Laurent’s thoughts.

Someone slides into the stool beside him, and Laurent tenses. He watches the stranger out of the corner of his eye, taking in the clean-looking outfit and expensive watch. The man leans both elbows on the counter, the pads on the sleeves of his brown cardigan soaking the small rings of condensation from previous glasses.

“You seem a little unhappy,” the man starts, offering a kind smile. “Are you alright?”

How did he slip past Makedon? Laurent takes a long draw from his glass, long enough for the silence to grow awkward, and he swallows the alcohol slowly. When the man doesn’t balk, he turns to him and replies. “I’m doing as well as I can, I suppose,” he shrugs with one shoulder, “after my recent breakup with my boyfriend.”

“That’s unfortunate, my condolences.” The man nods, lacing his fingers together. “I hope you’re not taking it too hard.”

“Oh, no,” Laurent waves his hand dismissively, a few drops of water dripping from his fingertips. “I broke up with him. Sordid affair, really, he proposed and I declined him, and left him crying in a crowded restaurant. I’m not sure he’s recovered yet.”

“Oh!” the man exclaims, and Lazar frowns at him from across the bar. “Did he deserve it?”

Definitely not, but Laurent doesn’t say so. He brings the glass to his lips again and takes another long sip, raising his eyebrow at the stranger in response. The man laughs softly.

“Fair enough! Can my partner and I offer you a seat at our table? You look like good company, and we’d be glad to buy your drinks for you.” The man offers, gesturing to the far side of the room, where Laurent notices a red-haired young man with flashy earrings and jeweled bangles adorning his arm.

“I’ll have to respectfully decline,” Laurent says. “I’m afraid I’m not much for drinking, and my current glass is the only one I’m having tonight.”

The man nods. “A responsible man. Still, the offer stands. You can access our tab under the names Berenger, or Ancel.”

Laurent nods back as the man, presumably Berenger, gets up and returns to his table. Lazar slides up to him and leans over, pouring the contents of the tumbler in his hands into a tall, colourful glass.

“Was he bothering you?” Lazar asks, looking concerned.

“No, but it’s kind of you to ask.”

“Sorry about him, Mak is in the backstore right now and I didn’t see him come up,” Lazar says, shrugging. He hands off the glass to the waiting customer and comes back to stand with Laurent. “I heard you talking about what happened with Damen.”

Laurent barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. Lazar scoffs and gently cuffs him on the side of the head.

“Hey, don’t give me that! You were not as cruel as you described yourself to be,” Lazar berates him. “You were scared, or had some sort of panic attack, or whatever. Don’t try to make yourself the villain, because we know the _real_ story you gave us, and we know you didn’t mean to do it.”

Laurent feels like the villain, though. He still does, weeks after the fact, but the feeling is not new and he doesn’t elaborate on it to Lazar. He finishes the rest of his drink and puts a ten dollar bill on the counter as he gets up.

“Thank you for the drink,” Laurent says, ignoring Lazar’s look. “I’ll be back tomorrow at the usual time.”

He slips between the other patrons, careful not to bump into anyone on his way out. He waves at Pallas as he leaves and begins the walk home.

Or he tries to, at least. A familiar shock of blonde stands in his way. It would almost be like looking into a mirror, if it weren’t for the differences in sobriety. Jokaste levels him with a cool look. The last time he’d seen her he’d been curt and she hadn’t been up to date on the events in her friends’ lives. It seems that last bit has since been remedied.

“Jokaste,” Laurent nods to her, polite if nothing else. “I see you now know how Damen is,” he says, reminiscent of the last time they’d spoken.

“I am,” is all she says in return. They stare each other down, daring each other to make the first move. Eventually, Laurent sways slightly in place and Jokaste’s eyes follow the movement. Inexplicably, her face softens.

“Something the matter?” Laurent inquires, voice pointed. A stray lock of hair falls into his eyes. He doesn’t move it.

She eyes him up and down, likely smelling the griva permeated into his clothes. Upon finishing her evaluation, she steps aside, allowing Laurent to continue walking.

“He told me not to hate you,” she says to his back. He stops short, almost tripping. “He said not to make myself your enemy.”

He doesn’t turn back, grab her by her shoulders, and shake her impeccably coiffed head silly. But oh, he wants to. Instead, he brings both arms to his side, keeping himself carefully still.

Jokaste laughs humorlessly. “How could I?” she asks. “Hate you, when you remind me so much of myself?”

That catches his attention. He turns his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He draws his lips into a thin line.

“I’m not happy with you, not by a long shot,” Jokaste continues. “But you’re still my friend. Or you were, last time I checked. You know my number, if you need anyone to call.” She turns toward Delpha with a sweep of her hair. “Now, excuse me, I have a bartender to see.”

Laurent doesn’t move until she disappears into the bar. Confused and lost, he turns back home. The streetlights break the darkness into pools of light, interrupted only by the light from Laurent’s new phone as he punches in Jokaste’s number.

> _I wish i could tell him im sorry [00:12]_
> 
> _Don’t tell him. That’s my apology to make [00:12]_
> 
> _I’ll speak to him when I’m ready [00:13]_
> 
> **_[00:14] I won’t tell him, but mark my words_ **
> 
> **_[00:15] You owe him a very good explanation._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update!! i was working on my bigbang wip and completely forgot about this haha
> 
> thanks for the comments/kudos !!
> 
> and also shoutout to TheMightyFangirl01 who has commented on almost every chapter of this disaster fic! you're great bud ily  
> also i will be calling a deep web hitman on you for foreseeing too many of my plans ಠ_ಠ


	13. Damen - Call Me Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey, I just met you_   
>  _And this is crazy,_   
>  _But here's my number_   
>  _So call me maybe!_

Over the course of the week, Damen and Erasmus work on asking Kallias out on a date, for Erasmus of course. Nothing too big or extravagant. They’d settled on a simple ‘do you wanna get coffee sometime?’ but so far no attempt has ever ended with Erasmus saying that sentence.

Erasmus groans, face pressed into the cushions of Damen’s couch miserably. Their latest attempt had featured Erasmus hanging out of Damen’s open window, where Damen usually speaks with Kallias. It resulted in Kallias asking if they were together. Absolutely mortified, Erasmus had to be hauled out of the window backward by the collar of his shirt.

Damen hands the blond a gummy worm in consolation, and Erasmus takes it and jams it in his mouth whole, chewing angrily.

“This isn’t working,” Erasmus whines around the candy in his mouth. “I can’t do this.”

Damen pats him on the shoulder, mindful of the spot where his shirt dug into the front of his neck and collar when he’d been pulled out of the window. “Sure you can, bud, it just takes a little more confidence..”

“Easy for you to say,” Erasmus lifts his head to frown at him.

“That’s fair,” Damen shrugs, and stands up. He lifts Erasmus off the couch and puts him on the ground standing, smoothing out the other man’s shirt and giving him a quick once-over. “Great, you look perfect. Now come on.”

He takes Erasmus’ hand and pulls him out the door to the newly fixed elevator, hitting the ‘down’ button, ignoring the shorter man’s protests. When the doors open, he pulls Erasmus inside and presses the button for the floor just below.

“Listen, you can do this,” Damen tells him, and when the doors slide open he gently pushes Erasmus out of the elevator.

“Damen, this is too much!” Erasmus twists around, trying to grab onto Damen’s arm. “I can’t do this, please! Please, I can’t-”

Some of Erasmus’ struggles forces Damen to bump into the wall, and he winces when his side collides with the protruding fire alarm. Damen takes both of Erasmus’ hands into his own and spins him around to face him. “What’s wrong, buddy?” Damen asks, leaning down a bit to look him in the eye. “Do you wanna stop and try again tomorrow?”

“No, I-” Erasmus shakes his head. “I can’t just walk up to his door and knock! What if he thinks it’s weird? What if he thinks I’m some kind of stalker? What if he doesn’t accept…” the man gestures to himself with the hands still clasped in Damen’s own.

Damen frowns. “If he doesn’t accept you as you are I’ll fight him myself.”

At that, Erasmus breaks into a helpless giggle. “You can’t just _fight_ people, Damen.”

“Sure, just watch me,” Damen lets go of Erasmus and shadowboxes a bit, making him laugh harder. “I’ll duel him for your honor! Give him the ol’ one-two.”

Erasmus pulls in a last amused gasp, and shakes his head again. “No, no, it’s not right to just-” he waves toward the door down the hall. “Bother him like this. It has to happen naturally!”

“Really?” Damen eyes him skeptically. “I hate to break it to you, bud, but at this rate you’ll never give yourself the opportunity to strike up a conversation ‘naturally’.”

“I mean, it _could_ happen,” Erasmus shrugs. “Someday. Y’know?”

Damen crosses his arms and looks at him, considering. “Okay. And you know when that day comes, you have my full support and I’ll be right behind you a hundred percent, right?”

“Of course! You’re a really good friend, Damen.”

“Good,” Damen uncrosses his arms. “Because I’m gonna need you to take a deep breath.”

And with that, he reaches over and pulls the fire alarm.

\-----

“I was wrong. I hate you so much.” Erasmus declares muttering into Damen’s shoulder. The entire building is gathered outside on the sidewalk, the fire alarm still audible from the outside. “You’re the worst, actually.”

“But am I really? Because Kallias is _right_ over there,” Damen tries pointing subtly. “And I do recall you saying you wanted things to happen ‘naturally’. What’s more natural than walking over there and, oh, I don’t know. Maybe asking him if he’s alright? There’s a fire in the building, maybe he got hurt.”

Erasmus glares at him with a scowl, but Damen has to admit he looks more cute than angry. He opens his mouth to speak again when he’s interrupted by the landlord.

“Did either of you pull that alarm?” Adrastus asks, looking tired. “The firemen checked the whole building and there’s no fire. We’re trying to find the culprit.”

Damen steps in front of Erasmus slightly and nods. “That was me, sir,” he says. “There was an incident with my toaster and I panicked.”

Behind him Erasmus slips away, intimidated by the landlord’s angry expression. He moves out of Damen’s line of sight, and Damen resigns himself to being yelled at.

“Look, I have to give you a warning,” Adrastus says, grumbling in disapproval. “I know you’re new around here, but in this building we don’t pull alarms for _toasters_. You gave everybody a real scare, bub.”

Damen turns slightly to look through the crowd, spotting Erasmus alone on the edge of the sidewalk. As he watches, Kallias approaches him on his own, a look of concern on his face. Damen watches in awe as Kallias and Erasmus talk briefly. Erasmus shakes his head vigorously, and Kallias laughs. Kallias says something else, which causes Erasmus to flush like a ripe berry and nod slowly.

A smile spreads across Damen’s face when the two swap phones, clearly punching in each other’s numbers into their contacts. When they give the phones back, they part ways with a shy wave. Kallias follows the people who begin to head back into the building, leaving Erasmus open-mouthed on the sidewalk.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Adrastus demands, hands on his hips. Damen turns back to him and nods, putting on the most earnest look he can manage.

“Of course, sir,” Damen says. “I’ll never do it again, promise.”

Adrastus gives him one last frown and walks back into the building as well. Damen turns to Erasmus and runs at him, picking up the smaller man and swings him around.

“You did it!” Damen cheers, and Erasmus laughs, embarrassed.

“He really thought we were dating,” he huffs, letting out a squeak when Damen puts him back on the sidewalk. “And he asked me first! He wants to go to a small café downtown, tomorrow afternoon.”

“Erasmus, that’s great!” Damen holds his hand up for a high five. “I’m so proud of you, buddy!”

“I’m still not particularly happy with you,” Erasmus warns, frowning. “But Damen…. Thank you.”

Now, to pick out an outfit for Erasmus to wear; tomorrow will be coming fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna make this super long w/ part 1 being this and part 2 being the date, but i figured i'll split it! :3c I'm super excited to write the date day though!!!
> 
> thanks so much for the comments and kudos!!! i would die for you all


	14. Damen - Best Day of my Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _But all the possibilities_   
>  _No limits, just epiphanies_

Damen finds him on the sidewalk just outside the building, sitting on the curb and wiping his eyes with the sleeves of the sweater they’d picked together yesterday.

“Erasmus?” Damen hurries over to him, crouching beside his small friend and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hi, Damen,” Erasmus sniffs lightly and finishes wiping his eyes. “The metro is down and I missed my bus,” he explains, “I’m gonna be so late… What if Kallias thinks I stood him up?”

Damen frowns. “Can you text him to tell him you won’t be there on time?”

Instead of replying, Erasmus turns his phone screen toward Damen so that he can see the latest message:

> **_**_[1:_ ** _ ** **_**_5_ ** _ ** **_**_3] hey Erasmus, my phone is dying so I’m turning it off for now!_ ** _ **
> 
> **_**_[1:_ ** _ ** **_**_5_ ** _ ** **_**_4] can you bring a charger with you when you get here? Thanks!_ ** _ **

Well, that’s not ideal. Damen runs his tongue over his teeth, thinking, and Erasmus goes back to moping. Damen looks down at him, taking in the nice sweater with pastel blue jeans, which are probably getting dirty from being on the ground. He can see the lightning cable poking out of his front pocket; he must have ran up to get it and, in doing so, missed his bus. Erasmus had been so proud to have an excuse to wear his ‘nice’ clothes, when he’d put the outfit together, too.

“You really wanted to be there on time, huh?” Damen asks. “Your date isn’t until two thirty.”

Erasmus nods and looks down morosely at the clock on his phone. “I wanted to make a good impression,” he says. “I was also gonna tell him about me, so that he knows what he’s getting into.”

“’Getting into’,” Damen scoffs. “Erasmus, this isn’t like buying a car, you aren’t there for him to analyze and evaluate or anything.”

“Not everyone can me take coming out as easily as you did, Damen,” Erasmus gives him a wry expression through his light curls.

“More like coming in,” Damen smirks. “Into my apartment, at six in the morning, because of a bug.” Erasmus reaches up and hits him for the remark.

“It was a really big bug!” Erasmus defends. “And I didn’t mean for you to know, then, anyway. It just happened-”

“Naturally?”

Erasmus’ mouth clicks shut and he gets up, starting to walk away.

“No wait, come back!” Damen laughs, maneuvering himself back into a standing position. “Erasmus, come on!”

“I’m going to try the metro again,” Erasmus says, slowing down enough for Damen to catch up. “Maybe it’ll be ready by now.”

They come up to the clerk’s window, only to find it closed. A notice comes in on the speakers, informing them that the line will continue to be down for the next hour. Erasmus groans and bumps his head against the side of the empty clerk’s booth.

Damen puts his hands on his hips and looks down at himself. He’d been planning on checking out the local gym, so he’d put on a pair of light shorts and a breathable t-shirt. “Hey, Eramsus, where did you say the café is, again?”

“It’s downtown,” Erasmus says. “But why? The bus won’t be here for another twenty minutes, and neither of us has a car.”

“Downtown is about, what. Forty-five, maybe fifty minute walk from here?” Damen rubs his chin pensively, and Erasmus nods.

“Damen, I can’t walk that far in jeans! They’ll get all dirty. I’m not showing up to my date late __and__  all sweaty and gross.”

“Sure,” Damen says, already decided. “What if __I__  show up all sweaty and gross?” Erasmus looks at him quizzically, so he elaborates. “What if I carry you and run there? We can make it in twenty if I get all green lights.”

“I don’t think so. I’m like, a hundred something pounds. You’re strong, but not __that__  strong,” Erasmus shakes his head, but seems amused nonetheless.

“Come on, let’s give it a shot! If we pass by a bus, you can take it from there.” Damen replies, rubbing his hands together before opening his arms as though waiting for Erasmus to throw himself in them.

He seems skeptical, but Erasmus slowly comes forward. “Fine,” he says, seeing no better option. “But if I’m too heavy, put me down right away.”

He squeaks like a dog toy when Damen picks him up, hoisting him on his hip with one arm. “Are you kidding? This is just like holding a couple of grapes.” He says, and then breaks into a run. Helplessly, Erasmus clings to his shoulders and wraps his legs around Damen’s waist, like a giant koala.

“Oh my god!” Erasmus shouts, the wind whipping through his hair as Damen takes up. an easy, decent pace.

They pass block after block, taking turns where necessary. Damen winces as he jerks a bit to the left to avoid stepping into a hole, apologizing to Erasmus, who grips him hard enough to pinch. They hit a few red lights, but Damen jogs on the spot to keep himself warmed up.

“You doing okay up there?” Damen asks once they hit another red light, looking at Erasmus out of the corner of his eye. Erasmus looks down at him in return, a carefree grin on his face.

“You’re nuts!” he laughs nervously, breath hitching when the light turns green and Damen takes off again.

From across the street, Damen spots a familiar cascade of blonde. She’s either getting into or getting out of her car. “hey, Jo!” He shouts as he runs past her. She looks up at him in surprise, her eyes barely visible over the rims of her sunglasses.

“Damen?” She asks, barely audible over the distance. Damen waves with his free hand, barely slowing his pace.

“Late for a date!” He shouts, pointing at Erasmus. “See you later!”

She has no time to respond because Damen and Erasmus are already gone. Erasmus tosses his head back and laughs with abandon.

“Damen, you’re absolutely bonkers!” he says, clinging a little tighter when Damen makes a heavy impact with the sidewalk. “Where are we?”

“Almost there,” Damen says between gasps, breathing hard. “Couple more blocks and we’ll be on the edge of downtown.”

He comes to a stop on a corner, just before the main street of downtown, and the people walking around stare at him in surprise. He lets Erasmus down slowly, sucking in deep breaths.

“Oh my god,” Erasmus repeats, looking at his phone. It reads two twenty-five. “You’re insane. Are you okay?”

Damen is bent over with his hands on his knees, head hanging between his shoulders. Out of breath, he gives a halfhearted thumbs-up and replies, “‘M fine. S’good cardio.”

“This is perfect, Damen, thank you so much! You're the best!” Erasmus says, hands clasped. “How do I look? Not too bad?”

Damen looks up at him. His sweated is a little wrinkled and there’s a slightly damp mark on it where Damen’s arm was. He leans over and sniffs it, and Erasmus squeaks and twists away from him.

“You’re fine,” Damen concludes. “Now go, you’ll be late!”

Erasmus nods hurriedly and waves at him before jogging the rest of the way on his own. Damen watches him go, exhausted but pleased to have helped.

Beside him, a bus pulls up. Damen straightens with a groan and wipes his face miserably. As he checks his pocket, the door of the bus opening and hitting him with a gust of air-conditioned wind. He pulls out his wallet and climbs on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand date day!! :3c Damen is the absolute definition of ride or die. might also secretly be the greek god of muscles. who knows?? im not here to be physically accurate im here to have fun lol
> 
> thanks so much for the comments and kudos!!  
> also i realized i never put it here, but you can find me on tumblr and also discord!  
> my tag is Seabird#8281, and i'll add it in the footnote from now on :3c


	15. Jokaste - Tennis Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it_   
>  _Never not chasing a million things I want_

Jokaste is surprised by how readily Laurent texts her, their chat history already spanning a few days. If she’d know getting him to talk would be so easy, she would have gone out of her way to confront him much earlier. As it is, though, Laurent is willing to speak on any subject except why he rejected Damen.

Often, he asks about how Damen is settling into his new apartment, if he’s taking care of himself, if he’s still broken up about. Well. The break up. He never asks outright, of course, any inquiries are cleverly masked with barbs and offhand comments. Or, perhaps more likely, Jokaste is too ready to reply with barbs of her own in regards to Damen’s wellbeing.

So she’s a little bitter, sue her. Jokaste tips her sunglasses down and peers over the rim to where Laurent thinks he’s being subtle on the other side of the street, across from the diner. They were supposed to meet at noon, and it’s one. Someone, Jo surmises, was a little nervous, today.

Eventually, Laurent makes his way across the street and pushes the door open, the little bell over the door ringing loudly to announce his presence. Jokaste gives a little wave, lifting her half-finished cup of coffee to him. He has no expression as he weaves between chairs until he can slide into the booth with her.

“Jokaste,” he says as greeting. She smirks, lifting her cup to her lips.

“Laurent.” She barely suppresses the grimace of distaste at her sip of rapidly cooling coffee. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Just tea, please,” Laurent says to the passing waitress, who smiles sweetly at him and hurries off to fetch his order.

Jo tilts her head and takes another sip of coffee, ignoring how cold it is now. “How have you been, dear?” she asks after swallowing her mouthful.

“You know how I’ve been,” Laurent says dismissively. “Or, I hope you do. You know how to read, of course.”

“I’ve been just lovely,” Jo continues, ignoring him. “Damen’s been settling in nicely, as you know, and I heard he’s made himself a new friend.”

“I’m not surprised. Damen is a friendly person.”

The waitress comes back with a steaming cup of tea, which she puts down in front of Laurent carefully, not to splash any on him. She also pours some fresh coffee into Jokaste’s empty cup. Jo smiles at her and thanks her before reaching for the cups of milk and cream.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of Nikandros, but it seems he’s always busy these days,” Jo remarks, pouring two cups of half-n-half into her cup, stirring it with her spoon before emptying a packet of sugar into it as well. “That, or he’s on his phone. Worse than a high school girl, that one.”

Laurent nods, taking a sip of his tea without adding anything in, before it even has a chance to cool. “Auguste has been mostly the same. He hasn’t been nagging me as much, though, so I suppose there’s that.”

“You need some nagging, from what I’ve heard,” Jo snorts, and takes a sip as well. Perfect. “Didn’t you tell me yourself, just a few days ago, that you forgot to eat all day? Maybe I’ll start nagging you, instead.”

“How kind of you, I didn’t know you cared.”

Jo raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, looking at him over her sunglasses again. Laurent says nothing else, and they continue to drink in awkward silence.

“I thought you would be more talkative,” Jo says, eventually. “You seem to have a lot to say, over text.”

“You’ll tell me anything I want to know, anyway,” Laurent shrugs. “And some things I may not want to know, to begin with.”

“Maybe so,” Jo frowns into her cup. “It’s what you need to hear, anyway. Maybe something I say will inspire you to speak to Damen, for once. He’s still waiting for you, you know? He’ll wait for as long as you’ll make him, and I don’t think he’ll even realize he’s waiting.”

Laurent finishes his cup and puts it on the table, linking his fingers together and resting them on the polished surface. “I told you I didn’t want him to know we’ve been speaking,” he says, displeased. Jo waves him off.

“I haven’t told him, and I can only assume you haven’t, either, since you apparently plan on never speaking to him again.” She retorts, and finally Laurent looks away. “Look, I like you well enough-”

“I’m not a fan of women,” Laurent cuts in, and Jo continues as though he hadn’t spoken.

“But I’m on Damen’s side for this. He deserves to know why you left him. Even though I’m sure I could answer for you, I don’t want to. He needs to hear it from you.” She sits back in her seat after saying her piece.

“Do you want me to confess my undying love for him, as well? Tell him that I was wrong, that I made a mistake, and that I want to marry him after all?”

“It’s what he wants, I’m sure,” Jo pushes up the bridge of her sunglasses. “But I don’t want you to lie to him. We both know you regret hurting him, but you don’t regret saying no.”

Laurent’s mouth closes with an audible noise, and he stares out the window, his jaw clenched. Jo smirks a little.  _ Bullseye _ .

“He’ll forgive you, of course.” She says, and Laurent glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I know.”

“You just have to speak to him, let him know what was going on in that pretty little head of yours, and he’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Laurent turns back to her slowly, pulling on the tag of his cold tea bag, making it leak dark water into the bottom of his cup. “I want to, but…”

Jo smiles at him, for real this time. “That’s the most direct thing you’ve said to me all day. I know you don’t feel like you deserve it. What you did to him is unforgivable to everyone but him. Trust me on this one, you’ll want his forgiveness, even if he never takes you back. You won’t be able to live without him in your life.”

“How would you know?” Laurent’s mouth turns up in a slight sneer. “It’s not like you’ve ever tried.”

“You’re forgetting that I loved him first.” Jo takes both of their cups and stacks them so that the waitress can pick them up easier. “I never tried to live without having him, because I knew I couldn’t. He’s still a great friend to have, in the end.”

“Don’t let Kastor hear you say that,” Laurent says mildly, and Jo laughs.

“Kas is about a few weeks away from proposing to me,” she tells him, and Laurent’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I don’t think he’s particularly worried about me going back to Damen. I’ll say yes, of course, because it’s what I want.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted it with Damen?” Laurent asks, disbelieving.

“He loves too hard, too fast,” she says fondly, shooting Laurent a  _ look _ when he smirks at her words. “I want a slow life where I can settle, have a family, with two dogs and a minivan. I want to go all-out, if you get what I mean.”

“And you think Kastor is better at giving that to you than Damen.” It’s a statement.

“Oh,” Jo shrugs. “I know he is. Kas wants the picture perfect life, too, and I know he’ll stop at nothing to give it to me. That’s how he is. Damen,” she shakes her head. “He just wants to be happy, I suppose, but  _ just happy _ is not necessarily  _ perfect _ .”

“Depends who you ask.” Laurent takes his hands off the table and leans back into the cushion of the booth.

She looks at him for a long time, long enough to make him uncomfortable, before she dignifies his statement with a response. “I suppose it does.” Is what she says, finally.

The heavier subjects out of the way, the pair of them make relatively peaceful small talk, ordering themselves one more drink each, until the afternoon is already well on its way. Jo gets up first, putting a generous tip on the table for the waitress to pick up with the last of their cups.

“How are you getting home?” Jo asks, turning to Laurent as he climbs out of the booth beside her. As if she doesn’t already know.

“Auguste had Jord drop me off here on his way out,” Laurent says, checking his watch. Jo already knows it’s somewhere past two. “I can grab a bus home, I think they come on the half hour on this street.”

“Nonsense,” Jo breezes past him, her keys jingling in her hand. “I’ll drive you home.”

Her car is parked just outside; an older model, but a reliable tin can on wheels nonetheless. She unlocks the passenger door and lets Laurent take shotgun, closing the door after him politely, and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

She barely opens her own door when she hears someone shouting her name.

“Hey, Jo!”

Jo looks up, startled. Unmistakably, on the other sidewalk, Damen’s familiar form is barreling down the street with another person in his arms. “Damen?” She says, shocked, as she tilts her sunglasses down to get a better look. There’s no denying it, Damen is waving at her as he runs past.

“Late for a date!” He shouts, pointing at the curly-haired blond in his arms. Already they’ve crossed the street and are disappearing from her line of sight. “See you later!”

Jo gets into the driver’s seat and slams her door, annoyed. “Fucker!” She hisses. “I told him not to jump into it so fast. Nobody fucking listens to me around here.” She buckles herself in and catches a glimpse of her passenger, who she almost forgot about. Beside her, Laurent is carefully stone-faced.

“Was that Damen?” Laurent asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

“Mm-hm,” Jo lifts her sunglasses back up with her knuckle and starts the car. “And his little neighbor, too.”

The car ride to Auguste’s house is silent, and Jo offers no follow-up conversation of her own. Laurent stews in his own thoughts until Jo all but kicks him out of her car, and his steps are slow and distracted as he heads back into the house.

Later that night, Jo texts Laurent only once: an address. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a very painful handful of days with no wifi and no connection to gdocs :(:(:(:(  
> also? did you know trying to write these two interacting makes my brain feel like it's being controlled by two very pissed wasps that dont like each other?? nothing about this chapter came out the way i wanted it to but *shrugs loudly*
> 
> thanks for the comments and kudos and stuff!!! i'll try harder next time :'3c


	16. Auguste - Who Are You Really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Now you're moving idle and you say you're alone_   
>  _Suspicious that the string is moving your bones_

It started out with Auguste nagging him about getting in touch with Damen, really, but the development of his and Nikandros’ unconventional friendship is baffling to them both.

Perhaps ‘friendship’ is a little exaggerated. More accurately, they send each other what essentially amounts to whining about their respective situations, offering no advice or shoulders to cry on. Just an exchange of complaints, shared woes, and general griping.

Alright, so it’s not a “friendship” so much as it is a way of venting, but still the arrangement suits Auguste just fine. Nikandros is a fun guy to vent to, and his replies can be downright hilarious. He’s sure Nik is confused about why he keeps getting texts, especially after having made his displeasure quite clear, but he must be alright with it because he hasn’t blocked Auguste a second time. At least, not yet.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when Auguste doesn’t get a reply, today. He stares at the chat history, desolate, and Laurent rounds the kitchen table to pat his shoulder distractedly.

“What’s wrong, Auguste?” Laurent asks, nose glued to his own phone. Auguste has no idea what has his brother so focused, especially with how new his phone is. Surely he can’t have made new contacts already? At the very least, not any that would want to text him so much.

“Nothing, Lau,” Auguste replies, closing the text window and opening his internet browser. Laurent nods and wanders back into his room, where piles of clothes are still waiting to be sorted. Really, Auguste doesn’t know what’s taking him so long to unpack.

He checks his messages on social media for a while, then helplessly opens the texting app again.

> _Laurent is texting someone and idk who!!! [10:23]_
> 
> _Do you think he made a new friend?? [10:24]_
> 
> _He isnt even talking to me anymore!!! Hes just on his phone!! [10:45]_
> 
> _Did you block me again? :’( [11:03]_

It’s been a few hours since his last text and still he’s gotten no reply. The sight of his unanswered messages disheartens him again, and Auguste puts his phone on the table screen down, putting it out of his mind for now. He pushes away from the counter and rolls himself to the laundry room to get something productive done today.

The sight of Laurent’s ‘night out’ clothes in the hamper gives him pause. When did Laurent have the time to go out? Auguste brings the clothes to his face and gives them a quick sniff. The unmistakable smell of griva hits him the moment he breathes in, making him frown deeper. When did Laurent have the time to go out, and to _Delpha_?

Now that he thinks of it, Auguste had woken up to go to the bathroom in the night, once, and he’d noticed that Laurent’s door was left open, where usually Laurent is keen on keeping it closed. He thought nothing of it, until now. Is Laurent hiding something from him? It would be a first, truthfully. Has Laurent found a new lover, dating him in secret to avoid telling Auguste he’s moved on?

It would explain, of course, why he’s been so obsessed with his phone, lately. Arranging midnight meetings through text messages, waiting patiently to know when they could see each other again…. To avoid Auguste prying into his private matters, Laurent would. Probably.

Auguste puts the clothes in the washer feeling a little apprehensive, wondering what he could possibly have done to lose Laurent’s trust in something like this. Unless, of course, it isn’t an illicit new lover at all, and rather a budding alcohol problem. That would be highly unlikely, since Auguste knows the amount of alcohol Laurent can tolerate wouldn’t even fill a thimble.

Not knowing what else to do, Auguste wheels himself back to the kitchen and grabs his phone off the table, typing rapidly into the text box.

> _OMG i think laurent might be seeing someone?? [1:10]_
> 
> _Or hes been going to delpha on his own?? [1:10]_
> 
> _Since when does Laurent do bars on his own tho [1:11]_
> 
> _????? :(:(:(:(:( [1:12]_

He goes back to the laundry room with his phone in his lap, tossing more clothes into the machine. He wonders if he should maybe wash his sheets, or if he can wait and do all the beds at once tomorrow, when his phone buzzes. He dives for it and opens the message, surprised.

> **_[1:25] you know how some people double text_ **
> 
> **_[1:25] you are infinitely worse_ **
> 
> **_[1:26] i forgot my chargerat home when i went to work today_**
> 
> **_[1:26] borrowed someone elses so i can text again calm down_ **
> 
> **_[1:27] also laurent going to delpha on his own sounds REALLY fake fyi_ **
> 
> **_[1:27] no offense but your bro cant drink to save his life_ **
> 
> _I know!!! But where else would he get griva on his clothes?? [1:29]_
> 
> _without me noticing?????? [1:29]_
> 
> _Also you shouldnt be texting at work anyway >:( [1:30] _

Auguste doesn’t wait for another reply, deciding on cleaning his sheets after all. Anything to distract his brain from jumping to conclusions. He’s pulling the corners of his bedsheets out from under the mattress when he receives another bunch of texts.

> **_[1:35] you don't give me much of a choice since you keep texting me first_ **
> 
> **_[1:35] also thats so sketchy?_ **
> 
> **_[1:36] I’ll drop by delpha later and ask Mak about it_ **

Auguste sticks his phone under his thigh and scrunches the dirty sheets onto his lap, craning his neck to see over the pile, and rolls himself back to the laundry room. He puts the sheets in the hamper for now, and heads back to the kitchen.

Laurent looks up from the sink, where he’s rinsing a mug. He gives Auguste a questioning look, lowering his cup slowly. “What’s wrong?” Laurent asks, and Auguste knows his worry and confusion must be written all across his face.

“Nothing, Lau,” Auguste replies, shrugging and putting on a wry grin. “Wondering if Jord is having a good day. I know he was thinking of bringing Aimeric on vacation soon and I’m wondering if I should ask the center if i can borrow another driver for the week he takes off.”

Laurent frowns lightly. “If you need to be driven somewhere, I can take you,” he offers, and Auguste shakes his head.

“It’s fine, if I really need to go somewhere I can always drive myself.”

“If you say so,” Laurent raises a single, skeptical eyebrow and shuts off the water, putting his clean mug onto the dish rack upside down to dry. He heads back into his room and Auguste watches him go, deep in thought. _Why are you hiding from me, little brother?_

It’s hours later, presumably when Nik finishes his shift, when Auguste gets another text

> **_[4:56] Mak and Lazar didnt talk_ **
> 
> **_[4:56] but Pallas tells me hes been here every night_ **
> 
> **_[4:57] drinking GRIVA_ **
> 
> **_[4:57] whats up with your bro??_ **

Auguste puts his phone down and rests his forehead on the table with a sigh. If only he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet after Jo's chapter you thought you were gonna get a laurent chapter and not some random filler
> 
> but :3c
> 
> also again thanks so much for the comments and kudos!!! i didnt realize how many of you are subscribed to this trainwreck and i just gotta say? thank you for believing that i know where im going with this and sticking around to see how it turns out LOL


	17. Laurent - 1957

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You act like you don't know me_   
>  _My god, you tempt my anxious mind_

He stood for long minutes in front of the building, and then in front of the elevator, and after that in front or Damen’s door. He checks the screen of his phone again, Jokaste’s number mocking him. The address is correct, of that Laurent has no doubt, and yet he can’t bring himself to knock on the door.

It’s only been about two months since the breakup, Laurent wonders if maybe it’s too early to try and contact Damen again. Is he still angry? Would he turn Laurent away and never see him again? His fist is half raised to knock when the door swings open on it’s own.

“Laurent?” Damen frowns down at him brows furrowed and head cocked. His mouth opens and closes a few times, uncertainty playing across his face. Laurent tempers his own expression into careful blankness, lowering his hand to his side. 

“Damianos,” Laurent replies in way of greeting. The name tastes wrong in his mouth. “I’ve heard you moved apartments and wanted to give you a housewarming welcome.”

Damen looks him up and down and Laurent fights the urge to wiggle under his probing gaze. “Why are you here, Laurent?” he asks and leans against the door, causing it to open further. Inside the apartment, sitting on the unfamiliar, worn couch, is the same curly-haired blond Laurent had seen him with the other day. He peers around Damen with wide blue eyes, an innocently curious look.

“I have no ulterior motives,” Laurent shrugs slightly, and Damen’s frown deepens slightly. “I came for the exact reason I said, to welcome you to your new home. I’m told it’s a friendly thing to do.”

“Are we friends?”

Something about the question irks him in a way he’s never felt before. Laurent can feel his lips thin, and he looks away before he can say something insulting. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asks instead, holding up the bag he has in his other hand. It’s no longer warm, but the loaf inside is still fresh.

Damen considers him for a moment before glancing back at his guest, coming to some sort of conclusion, and steps aside. He gestures to the inside of the apartment, and Laurent steps in smoothly, taking in the surroundings.

It’s smaller than the one they shared, before. The kitchen and living room are open concept, tricking the eye into seeing them as larger than they are. The short hallway to the side has a few doors lining it, likely the bathroom and bedroom, and maybe a closet. Laurent stops in the living room and moves a few things aside to put his bag on the coffee table, ignoring the look of displeasure Damen makes.

“Laurent, this is Erasmus,” Damen moves around him to sit on the couch beside the other man, Erasmus. He looks at Laurent with a shy smile and waves. Laurent doesn’t know why it feels so gratifying that his eyes are golden honey, and not blue.

“It’s nice to meet you, Erasmus,” Laurent says, and Erasmus shakes his hand tentatively.

“Likewise!” Erasmus nods, and then looks at Damen. “I should probably go, I have some groceries to unpack, anyway.”

Laurent stops him by uncovering the loaf of bread he’d brought as a gift. Banana-nut, from the same bakery he and Damen would get their breakfast from. “Please, help yourself to a slice before you go, at least,” he smiles politely. “A friend of Damen’s is a friend of mine.”

Erasmus bites his lip and looks uncertainly between the loaf, Damen, and Laurent. There’s a long bout of awkward silence as the man hesitates toward taking a slice or simply turning tail. Laurent makes the decision for him, using one of the napkins he’d brought to pick out the two pieces closest to him and hands them to the nervous blond.

“Here, these ones aren’t as squished from the bag,” he says, and Erasmus takes them with a grateful look, muttering some form of thanks on his way out. Damen watches him leave, and when the door clicks shut he turns an annoyed look on Laurent.

“Why are you really here?” He demands, and Laurent sighs, dropping into the spot Erasmus freed up on the couch. Damen scootches a little bit away from him, and Laurent scowls at the action.

“Must you act like I’m diseased?” Laurent bites, and Damen has the decency to look ashamed. “I’m here to try repairing things between us, at the very least. I admit we didn’t part on particularly good terms.”

“You think?” Damen says sarcastically. The look Laurent gives him could freeze boiling water.

“I turned you down, not murdered your firstborn.” He leans back into the couch, frowning a little at how unfamiliar it feels under him. “You’d think, with the number of relationships you’ve had prior, you’d be more experienced with breakups.”

Damen makes an aborted movement, something like a fist, and turns away from him with a noise of anger. “That’s not fair!” he exclaims, shoulders sagging. Laurent wants to take back his words, all of them. “You know what we had wasn’t- I’ve never been that serious before.”

“I…” Laurent runs his tongue over his teeth, clasping his hands in his lap and staring down at them. His nails are bitten to the skin. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.” His words are claws, diggin in where they might hurt the most, but hurting Damen seems so unfair. It would be easier to be sharp if Laurent wasn’t as familiar with him, if he could keep his distance they way he wants to, but Jokaste’s words haunt him.

_ You won’t be able to live without him in your life. _ Laurent hates that she’s right.

Damen relaxes infinitesimally, still not looking Laurent directly in the eye. He gets up from the couch and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, forcing Laurent to crane his neck to see him. Neither of them speak as Damen begins making tea, the water boiling much faster than seems right, and finally he returns to the couch with two warm cups. 

“So you’re here to patch things up, and bring me housewarming bread? To be… friends?” Damen asks, putting one cup on the coffee table. Laurent hesitates before taking it, not letting his hand shake as he brings it to his lips. The taste is achingly familiar and he nearly spits it out.

“Yes,” he replies, simply. Damen chews on the inside of his cheek, frowning into his own cup for a good handful of minutes, before he nods.

“Okay,” Damen sighs. “Okay, I can do that.” When Laurent tilts his head ever so slightly Damen’s eyes follow the movement, and Laurent curses himself for the easy tell. “Were you expecting me to say otherwise?”

Laurent bites his lips together and forces himself not to react. He wouldn’t be here if he were expecting otherwise, and they both know it. “If you can be friends with Jokaste, you can be friends with me,” Laurent states, instead. The way Damen purses his lips should not be as endearing as it is.

“So how have things been for you?” Damen asks, conversationally. He’s making the effort, as awkward as it sounds. The sarcastic ‘ _ better than me, I hope _ ,’ is unsaid.

“I’ve moved in with Auguste, and I help him around the house if he needs me,” Laurent replies, taking a slice of banana bread since his host apparently won’t. “This place is nice, it’s simple. Just enough for you.”

It comes out wrong, he knows, because Damen looks like he wants to get up again, except he doesn’t have the excuse of making tea this time. Instead, he takes a sip from his cooling cup. After chugging about half of the hot tea, Damen takes a slice of banana bread as well and jams a corner of it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Your neighbor seems nice,” Laurent says, sipping his own tea a bit more delicately than Damen. “He’s cute, and polite. Is he single?”

“Are you interested?” Damen retorts, on edge. Laurent raises a single eyebrow at him and continues to snack on his slice of bread.

“Scared you’ll have competition?”

Damen laughs as though the thought is absurd, and Laurent’s heart sinks. Perhaps, he considers, there is no competition for Damen.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes a few times in a row, signalling that Auguste is texting him. Before Damen can ask, Laurent pulls out his phone and checks the messages.

> **_[2:08] hey lau! I thought youd be home by now but i guess not_ **
> 
> **_[2:08] Jord is taking his vacation next week_ **
> 
> **_[2:09] starting uhh monday i think he said_ **
> 
> **_[2:09] do you mind stopping by the grocery store on your way back from wherever?_ **

“Everything okay?” Damen leans over, trying to get a look at Laurent’s screen to see who the messages are from. Too bad he won’t see much, since Laurent bought himself one of those privacy screen protectors. 

“I have to head home,” he lies, straight-faced. “Auguste needs some help and his caretaker is on their day off.”

“Okay,” Damen frowns a little, getting up just as Laurent does He takes Laurent’s unfinished cup from him putting it on the table so it doesn’t spill. “It was, uh. Nice seeing you, I guess.”

“You too,” Laurent hurries to make his retreat, hiding his nervousness by finishing the last of his banana bread. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he says.

As he’s on his way down in the elevator, Laurent curses himself for the terrible lie. Damen already knows Auguste doesn’t hire a caretaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i havent posted in so long i know im _dying_ between vacation, coming home, helping my dad around the house n stuff, i havent really had time to post things ;v; i've been checking in all the time and writing a little bit constantly though, + i wrote my very first nsfw :3c its somewhere in the tag lol
> 
> anyway thanks for the comments and kudos!!! hopefully i'll be back on a regular posting schedule soon ;v;


	18. Nikandros - Here It Goes Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just when you think you're in control_   
>  _Just when you think you've got it all_   
>  _Just when you get on a roll_

The text came early on a saturday morning, waking Nikandros up with the notification tone. After five minutes of cursing himself for not turning on night-mode, Nik grabs his phone off his nightstand and unplugs it with more force than necessary, bringing the screen to his face and squinting into its brightness.

> **_[7:04] hey nikandros! I have a small favour to ask you!_ **

Auguste’s contact at the top of the screen is nearly enough for Nik to toss his phone into the dark corners of his closet, but the thought of Auguste multi-texting him throughout the day and coming back to over fifty new messages doesn’t particularly appeal. Nik rubs his eyes and sighs deeply, punching out his reply.

> _this couldnt have waited until later in the day? [7:06]_
> 
> _what is it [7:07]_
> 
> **_[7:07] great!! so my driver is on break this week_ **
> 
> **_[7:08] and i need someone to take me to the store_ **
> 
> **_[7:08] just for groceries! it won’t take long!!_ **

Considering Nik’s weekend plans consist mostly of watching TV or doing his own shopping, he figures he might as well help Auguste out.

> _when do you want to go? [7:10]_
> 
> **_[7:11] YOU’RE THE BEST_ **
> 
> **_[7:11] whenever you get here_ **
> 
> **_[7:12] we’ll have to take my car anyway_ **
> 
> _why??? [7:12]_
> 
> **_[7:13] oh im sorry i didnt know your car was wheelchair accessible :)_ **

Fucker. But on the other hand? That’s pretty fair. Nik rubs his face with an annoyed grumble, already swinging his legs out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom to freshen up. His phone pings a few more times while he’s gone, and he comes back to the sound of his ringtone emitting from under the blankets.

He fishes his phone out and brings it up to his ear, only remembering to hit answer at the last second. “Hello?” he says, wincing at how scratchy his voice sounds.

“ _Nikandros! I thought you were mad at me_ ,” Auguste greets, sounding far too chipper for a weekend morning. “ _Were you busy?_ ”

“Yes,” Nik replies through gritted teeth. “But I’m free now. I’m coming over as soon as I get dressed.”

“ _That’s fine with me!_ ”

“Why can’t you just ask your brother to take you?”

Auguste heaves a sigh and tuts. “ _Still asleep, believe it or not. I don’t know what got into him this week, he’s been sulking in his room all the time. More than usual, I mean, and that’s saying something._ ”

“Okay. Now, why do we have to take _your_ car?” Nik continues as if Laurent’s personal wellbeing doesn’t concern him. It doesn’t. “Can’t you just transfer from your chair into my car, anyway?”

“ _I could, but then I’d have to leave my chair in the driveway and risk it getting stolen, because I’m quite sure you won’t be able to fit both the chair and the groceries into your trunk._ ” Auguste says. “ _No offense to your car, of course, it’s a perfectly functional vehicle. It just has no space._ ”

Nik pulls the phone away from his ear to take in an exaggerated breath, releasing it in a deep sigh before bringing the phone back. “That’s fine, I guess. I’ll be there soon, okay? Be ready to go when I get there.”

With that, he hangs up. He stares down at his phone for a bit, in case Auguste decides he needs to have the last word and texts him or something. When no more messages come, Nik tucks his phone into the waistband of his pyjama pants and heads to the kitchen for something quick to eat.

Breakfast consists of coffee, a cup of greek yogurt, and a banana, which is arguably not bad but Nik has the sinking feeling he’ll probably need more energy to deal with Auguste. He grabs another cup of coffee in a to-go plastic mug, just in case.

When he pulls up to Auguste’s house, the man himself is sitting in the driveway beside his car. When Auguste spots him coming out of the car, he waves excitedly.

“Nikandros! Glad to see you!” Auguste calls, wheeling himself closer to the door. “If you would be so kind as to open the door and help me up, that’d be great!”

“Sure thing,” Nik nods and puts his plastic cup on the ground and half-jogs to the car, pulling the sliding door open. There’s a ramp folded neatly into the floor of the car, which Nik pulls up and out. It comes to a stop right in front of Auguste, who immediately begins rolling himself up. Not particularly interested in seeing the man fall backward, Nik comes up behind him and pushes him up the rest of the way.

“Thank you!” Auguste says, and rolls himself into the empty space beside the driver’s seat. There’s a series of belts and buckles around him, and Nik catches on pretty quickly that he’ll have to buckle Auguste in himself.

After a few minutes of struggling on his own, Auguste finally takes pity and shows Nik where each buckle goes. Once he’s secure, Nik folds the ramp and closes the door behind him. He picks up his coffee and chugs the rest of it, ignoring the burn as it goes down.

“Alright,” Nik shakes his head and heads back to his own car, putting the empty cup under the passenger’s seat and locking the door. He jogs back to Auguste’s car and slides into the driver’s seat, fully prepared to head out, when he encounters his next problem.

“Are you alright?” Auguste asks, leaning over and waving his hand in front of Nik’s eyes, who brushes him away in annoyance.

“Your car has no gas pedals,” Nik frowns and checks the space near his feet just to be sure, but the lack of pedals still throws him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Auguste says, leaning onto one elbow and giving Nik a strange look. “But my legs don’t exactly work. How do you expect me to drive with pedals if I can’t press them to begin with?”

“Okay, smartass, how do you make this thing go, then?” Nik frowns and leans away from the blond, who inches closer to him teasingly.

Auguste reaches over Nik’s lap, much to his consternation, and points at the strange joystick-like handle coming out from under the steering wheel. “That’s a push/rock system. You pull it toward you to accelerate, and push it to brake. You wanna do a few laps around the block to make sure you get the hang of it?”

Nik pushes Auguste away with a few catlike bats, frown deepening. “I’m a big boy, I know how to drive a damn car,” he grumbles, and settles into the seat. He tests his reach on the push/rock while Auguste puts his key in the ignition, revving the engine gently. Slowly, slowly, Nik puts the car in reverse and pulls the handle.

The car lurches a bit as he figures out exactly _how much_ force to use to make it go at the speed he wants, but he catches on quickly enough and soon they’re on the main street.

“Any specific store you want to go to?” Nik asks, glancing over at Auguste. Auguste shrugs and shakes his head.

“Whatever’s closest, really. Groceries are the same everywhere.”

The ride is blessedly quiet for most of the time, only interrupted when Auguste mentions that Nik is getting the hang of the push/rock very fast, and Nik can’t help but preen internally at the praise.

When they pull into the parking lot, Auguste interrupts a second time.

“Go toward the front, there’s usually disabled parking spots free at this time of day,” he states, pointing toward the front doors of the store. Nik follows the direction obediently, parking in the large space neatly.

It feels strange to park in the disability space, especially when he isn’t disabled, himself, but he supposes accompanying Auguste gives him a free pass just for today. He exits the car and hurries around to the other side to open the door and pull out the ramp while Auguste unbuckles himself.

“Thanks, Nikandros,” Auguste says as he rolls himself down the ramp. “If you could just grab the reusable bags from the trunk, that’d be great!”

By the time Nik has the bags and locks the doors, Auguste is already rolling through the automatic doors. Cursing under his breath, Nik grabs a shopping cart and tosses the bags into it as he catches up.

“So what do you need?” Nik asks, walking beside Auguste as he looks around.

“Just stuff,” Auguste replies. “Like milk, bread, some fruit.”

Nik trails after him as he rolls down each aisle, grabbing stuff whenever it catches his eye. He wonders, for a moment, if Auguste even has a shopping list. Probably not, he thinks when Auguste grabs two types of cookies and tosses them over his shoulder into the shopping cart with impeccable aim.

Auguste brakes hard when he comes to the tea section and Nik almost runs him over, only managing to avoid a collision by pulling on the cart before it hits the back of Auguste’s head. “What?” Nik barks, leaning over the handle to glare at Auguste.

The blond reaches out and grabs a box of tea hesitantly, seeming between putting it back and taking it with him. After an arduous twenty seconds of indecision, he finally tosses the box into the cart as well. He continues wheeling himself down the aisle without looking back, so Nik reaches into the cart to look at the box.

He recognizes the box because of the stupid-looking graphic on the front, something Damen used to think was peak comedy before switching brands after the breakup. He puts the box back into the cart and moves quickly to catch up with Auguste before he turns down another aisle and he loses him.

“What’s up with the tea?” Nik inquires, raising an eyebrow at Auguste when the blond turns away avoidantly. “Auguste? Why did you want this specific tea?”

“Laurent threw out my other box,” he replies, pushing himself a little bit faster. “And I think he misses the flavor. I’m going to put the bags into my other box and maybe he won’t notice, and he’ll be comforted by the familiar taste or something.”

Nik looks at Auguste from a different angle and squints. “You’re a good dude, y’know?” He says after a while. “That’s a really nice thought, but it’s also the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.” At Auguste’s offended gasp Nik continues: “You think your brother won’t smell this tea from a mile away? If you want a subliminal reminder of Damen to comfort him, buy some kind of yellow flowers and put them in the kitchen or living room. They always had these stupid plastic flowers around the house. I bought some for Damen’s new place and I don’t think he’s noticed them yet, but I’m hoping the familiarity of it makes him less stressed.”

Auguste doesn’t look at him, instead staring into the cart at the offending box of tea. He reaches in with a bit of strain and takes the box out, putting it onto a nearby shelf.

“That’s pretty good, Nik,” Auguste says. “You’re really thoughtful when you want to be.”

Nik watches as the man rolls away, trying to figure out of that was a compliment or an insult, when he realizes that the tea really doesn’t belong with the spices. He pulls a face at Auguste’s back and grabs the tea box, stomping up the aisle to put it where it back where came from. It's only after that he realizes Auguste called him by his nickname for the first time all day, and he wonders what, specifically, made him do that. He's probably overthinking it, but Nik knows that neither Auguste nor his brother ever do anything without having at least three different reasons for it.

The few weeks where he had no obligations to deal with Auguste or Laurent in person were weeks he didn’t appreciate enough at the time.

 _Blonds!_ he thinks with a grumble, and pushes the cart into the crafts section, where Auguste was heading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the big delay w/ this one again i got caught up trying to meet the wordcount for my big bang fic!! i think this is the longest chapter yet, but I'll have to check :0c
> 
> thanks so much for the kudos and comments, guys!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> you can bother me whenever you want!!  
> \- tumblr @seablrd!  
> \- discord @Seabird#8281


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